


the monster you know

by tiniestawoo



Series: monster 'verse [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Assassin Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Nemeton, Pregnancy, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott gets better, Scott is a Bad Alpha, Temporary Character Death, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, author makes up magic, graveyard conversations, hale fire mention, life insurance, more tags to be added as I write stuff, past major character death, werewolf cure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23604892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestawoo/pseuds/tiniestawoo
Summary: Stiles Stilinski is finally home, finally has control of the Beacon Hills territory. He's an alpha, he has a pack, he has two mates, everything should be perfect.Things are never quite that easy.(A series of monster 'verse snippets; life in the Stilinski pack continues.)
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Cora Hale/Isaac Lahey, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski/Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Theo Raeken/Malia Tate
Series: monster 'verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693720
Comments: 68
Kudos: 646
Collections: Teen wolf, TeenWolf





	1. I just wanted to come home

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably definitely going to contain at least a few stories about this pack. Enough people seemed legitimately interested in seeing how these characters continued on, so, here is (as I apparently do) a series of in-verse snippets. 
> 
> Not sure how much there will be of this, but if anyone has requests/is interested in seeing something in particular, let me know!

At the beginning of his tenure as First Alpha of Beacon Hills, Stiles almost felt bad for ripping the territory out from under Scott. Sure, Stiles was going to need a pack, but there really was no reason for him to have come back and actually taken the territory from Scott. If the members of his pack had really wanted to be with him as badly as they did, they probably could have just joined him in whatever territory he chose to settle in. 

Regardless of the right, wrong or indifferent of it, Stiles was now the protector of Beacon Hills, and had to conduct himself accordingly. He and Lydia spent a Sunday afternoon laying new wards around the boundary line, wards that were keyed into both of them, a dual-pronged warning system. While they worked, Lydia prodded Stiles for stories of the time he’d been gone. He told her a few of the less-gory ones and poked for information about her life. 

Lydia, and Peter of all people, owned a supernatural consulting business. The two of them were information resources for anyone who wished to use the information to correct a legitimate problem – be that werewolves protecting their territory, or hunters that kept to a firm code. It had only seemed logical to bring Chris in, and he happily folded Argent Arms into the warm embrace of Martin & Hale and became an easy way for their clients to source the kind of weapons they needed to handle the threats. 

“Why didn’t you go to college?” Stiles asked as they sat in the shade beneath a large oak tree on the edge of the Beacon County territory. Stiles’ (un)reliable old jeep was parked a few miles down, at an access point. “You had ten-year plans, twenty-year plans. But you stayed.”

Lydia nodded, taking a long pull on the water bottle she’d collected from the backpack Stiles was carrying, full of them. “I could still go back, one day. It would be easier now. But, with Scott’s pack it just felt… like I’d never be allowed to leave, even if I asked. It’s a miracle Peter and I were able to start the company, it seemed like every time we sat down to work on things, or research for one of our paying clients, he’d call and ask for help with this monster, or that monster.” Lydia crushed the water bottle with pursed lips, “It’s part of why the enforcers just started killing the monsters – it was faster to just go around Scott than to actually deal with him.” 

“If I ever get a job, I’ll start paying for my information, I promise.” Stiles said with a grin. Lydia was quiet for just long enough that Stiles frowned and leaned closer, “What?”

Lydia turned to him, “You still own your parents’ house. One of us – me, Jordan, Derek, or Malia sometimes even, go over and dust once a month. At some point, you’re going to have to decide what to do with that.” She paused, “And, you have your dad’s life insurance and his pension from the department. I think Melissa has all the paperwork.”

Stiles looked up at the light canopy of trees, blue skies peeking down at him. Emotions in general don’t send him spiraling out of control like they used to, the pack bonds tethering him, but he’s still an alpha, and they’re not somewhere safe for him to be vulnerable, so he drags in long breaths of forest air and tries to pull himself together. “Doesn’t that stuff have like…a time limit? Pretty sure five years is too long to not claim it. Plus, the house is probably owned by the county now.” 

“Well, we paid the property taxes on the house.” Lydia said, and Stiles’ head snapped around, “And the utilities are in Derek’s name, they draft out of his account. I’m not sure he’s ever even noticed we did that, if that’s any indication of how little it costs overall. And I’m not going to lie and pretend that I know all about how pensions and life insurance works, but don’t you have a fancy lawyer in the pack now?” She cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

Stiles snorted, “He can’t take the bar ‘til next month.”

Lydia shrugged, “He can make himself useful in the meantime by researching how pension and life insurance payouts work.”

“Or we could just ask the pack members who’ve received life insurance payouts.” Stiles said, shrugging. He leaned back harder against the tree, “Scott know about any of that?” He asked, watching a flock of birds depart from one of the trees nearby.

Lydia shook her head, “He probably did but he’d never bring it up. He never offered to help or anything. Our running theory is that he feels so guilty about everything that once you were gone, it was easier to pretend you didn’t exist.”

“Pretending I don’t exist seems to be a fun trick he pulls when it’s convenient.” Stiles can hear the bitterness in his own voice. He’s tried – really fucking tried – over the last five years to just fucking let Scott go, to stop caring, but ‘not caring’ isn’t something Stiles would list in a skills column. Repressing his emotions and pretending they don’t affect him? He’s an expert. Actually not feeling? Hopeless.

“We should keep going.” Lydia said, and Stiles loves her for it. They carry on with the warding, changing topics as they walk. 

Lydia and Jordan had been together for three years, which she amusedly recounted because apparently, until she was twenty-one, Jordan refused to date her, claiming impropriety even if she was an adult. It was cute in the way that kind of gave Stiles a stomach ache. Jordan had never really been in Scott’s pack, but Scott had kept him close to have an in with the Sheriff’s office. It was another tick in the ‘bad Alpha’ column under Scott’s name on Stiles mental murder board. 

Hey, he had a house now. A really nice house. He could probably get a real murder board again.

\--

Stiles dragged in a long breath as he stood at the gate to the Beacon Hills Memorial Cemetery. Alone. At almost midnight. Okay sure, he was an alpha werewolf, he’d traveled all over the country by himself, he’d put people into graves; cemeteries at night were still creepy. Especially when they contained people who had loved you, once. 

Stiles could probably have closed his eyes and still made it to the gravestones he was seeking out, a path he’d traced since childhood, his father’s grave sitting beside his mothers. Stiles exhaled shakily as they came into view, clear and bright to him despite the inky darkness of the night, the moon barely a sliver in the sky. Stiles blinked away tears, running the back of his hand over his eyes to brush them away, “Hey guys.” He said, licking his lips, “Sorry I uh, sorry it took me so long to stop by.”

Stiles dropped to a crouch and reached out to run his fingers over the name. His father’s tombstone had a badge engraved in it, above the name, shiny metal once Stiles wiped away the dust that had settled into it. “I’m back for good now.” He said, unable to stop the fresh wave of tears that fell from his eyes, “I uh, I beat Scott at his own game, Dad you’d have loved it. No death. Not uh, not this time at least.

“I have killed though, Dad. I wish I could say that it was just, completely out of my control but I’d be lying. I’m a monster, dad. I think I always have been. I can justify every single life I’ve ever taken, at least, consciously. They weren’t good people, they hurt others, they did terrible things and if it wasn’t for me, they’d have gotten away with it.

“I’m an alpha now, because of it. I’m a werewolf, too, probably should have led with that for mom’s sake, y’know.” Stiles glanced towards his mom’s tombstone, “I shouldn’t feel glad that you were already dead when this madness started but I am. I probably would have lost you to it, too.” 

The night was silent, even the wind had died down and Stiles sat back, landing with a thump on the cold ground, his arms wrapped around his knees, a fresh wave of emotion causing his face to crumple, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you, dad.” He breathed, “I’m so sorry that I trusted him.” 

“Join the club.”

Stiles was on his feet and crouched, only barely keeping his shift back until he was sure it wasn’t just a lucky human who had managed to sneak up on him. “Theo.” He said with a snarl, letting the red color his eyes. “Sneaking up on me in the middle of the night is pretty high up there on the list of stupid shit you’ve done.”

“Scott kicked me out.” Theo said with a shrug, “I’m not really sure what else there is for me to do _but_ approach the other alpha in this territory.” 

Stiles blinked a few times, “In a graveyard in the middle of the night? Tact never really was your forte, was it?”

Theo stayed passive, just blinking at Stiles through emotionless grey eyes. “I didn’t really feel like walking up to a pack house and begging for your forgiveness in front of everyone?” 

Stiles smirked, “You’re here to beg? I thought that was below you, Theo.” 

Theo held out his hands in defeat, “If that’s what it’ll take, Stilinski.” He looked away, his shoulders falling, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” 

“Because you killed your sister, possibly your parents, and then went rogue following a group of homicidal zombies in space suits.” Stiles glanced over Theo’s shoulder, processing.

“You forgave Peter Hale. The whole pack did. Malia calls him dad.” Theo rolled his eyes. 

“You convinced me I was a murderer.” Stiles snarled, stepping forward. Theo didn’t back down, “You tried to get Scott killed, you USED Liam, killed anyone who stood in your way. And then for fun, you brought some of them back to life and killed them again.” 

Theo blinked, and nodded, “And now, how many of those crimes can you claim for yourself, Stiles? Do you really care about what happened to Scott or Liam in the past? Have you ever considered that maybe the Doctors manipulated me too?” 

Stiles growled, his lip curling in disgust as he met Theo’s eyes. Every fiber of Stiles’ being wanted to tear Theo to pieces. His wolf was ready for it, the bloodlust singing in Stiles’ veins. But he was here, standing on the grave of the people who had raised him to be better than a monster. The people who had taught him the meaning of friendship, of forgiveness, of second chances. If he sent Theo away, left him to go omega, to lose his mind, probably take others with him before his eventual death, he was no better than Scott. If he killed Theo here, where he rightly pointed out that others in Stiles’ pack had done the same things and been forgiven, he was every bit the monster that Scott thought he was. 

Stiles drew in a long breath, Theo’s scent most prominent over the grave dirt and stench of rot in the graveyard. “You’re not living at the pack house. I’ll bite you so you don’t go insane, but you’re going to earn your place like everyone else. My pack, my rules. And if you hurt any of the people I care about _ever_ again, I’ll break every single bone in your body twice before I kill you. Are we clear?” 

“Crystal.” Theo said smirking. Stiles kind of just wanted to punch him for the hell of it, but instead, he grabbed for Theo’s arm and sank his teeth down perhaps a bit harder than strictly necessary, the chimera letting out a little ‘oof’ but otherwise holding back the yelp Stiles had been hoping to elicit. 

“Pack strategy meetings are Sunday evenings. I’ll tell Lydia to add you to patrol rotations. Bring a dessert. Actually, bring three.” Stiles wiped Theo’s blood on the sleeve of his shirt, “Stay away from the pack in the meantime. I’m going to get like, five different strongly worded lectures for this.”

Theo chuckled, “What happened to ‘your pack, your rules’?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Only counts for so much when you’ve got Lydia and Peter in your pack. They’re the only ones who will actually yell. Chris will ‘dad’ me, Jackson will try to convince me I’ve lost my mind, and Derek will just scowl, but it’ll feel like a lecture.” Stiles blinked a few times, “I’m not really sure why I’m telling you this.” 

Theo shrugged and turned to walk away. He made it a few steps and then stopped. “Thank you, Stiles. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what I did before. Power isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. I think I’d have been a really shitty alpha.” 

“You probably would have been.” Stiles said, blinking at Theo’s back, “But the apology is worth something. Not much, but something.” 

When Theo was gone, and the cemetery returned to the kind of quiet that only the dead managed to maintain, Stiles turned back around to the gravestones and let out a tiny burst of a giggle, “Once, you told me that the best way to make up for lives lost is to save lives. I guess Theo’s number one on that list.” Stiles ran his hands back over his father’s name, swallowing hard, “I miss you every day.” He said, “and I always will.”

He turned around and followed Theo’s scent out of the cemetery, climbed back into Derek’s car and drove back to the house. 

\--

“So, Stiles.” Lydia said too sweetly, holding out a cup of coffee to him as he wandered downstairs the next morning. “Did you go for a midnight adventure last night?” 

Stiles took the coffee and narrowed his eyes, “You guys can already feel it, huh?” 

“Did you make a new wolf last night, Stiles?” Peter asked, sitting at the breakfast table wearing a silk robe with a cup of tea, reading a newspaper, looking for all the world like he belonged in some kind of British regency film.

“Not exactly.” Stiles said, sitting down at the table and taking a drag on the coffee. No cream, three sugars. 

“But you bit someone?” Lydia said, dropping into the seat next to Stiles. 

“And he came home smelling like a graveyard.” Derek said, already dressed in his EMT uniform, blinking bleary hazel eyes at Stiles. “Jackson is pissed you didn’t shower before you came back to bed, by the way.”

Lydia’s brow furrowed, “Do you have necromancy skills you’ve decided to withhold?” 

Stiles snorted, “No.” He blinked up at the three pairs of eyes staring at him, “I went to visit my mom and dad, okay? Yes, I ended up biting someone. No, I’m not telling you who it is just yet.”

“It was Theo.” Malia said, walking into the kitchen with sleep-mussed hair, “He doesn’t have your number so he called me. He wants me to tell you that he’s really sorry to already be a ‘needy beta’ but apparently Scott saw him at a coffee shop this morning and doesn’t believe that he’s a part of your pack. He’s threatening to forcibly remove Theo from Beacon Hills.”

Stiles turned back away from Malia slowly, cursing under his breath and staring down at his coffee, pointedly ignoring the three, burning pairs of eyes. “Mal, tell him I’ll be there as soon as he can, but also tell him he should just be able to show Scott his wrist, I can promise you it hasn’t healed yet.”

Malia grumbled something nobody caught and wandered back out of the kitchen. Stiles finished the last few sips of his coffee, put the cup in the sink, smiled cheerily at Derek, Lydia and Peter, and headed upstairs to change. “See you guys later.” He called.

A few minutes later, Chris was waiting for him by the front door, keys dangling in his hand, “I heard you needed to get somewhere.” 

Stiles nodded, “Yeah, thanks.” He reached for the keys. 

Chris pulled his hand away, “I’m going with you.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, “I don’t need backup.” 

“Need it? No.” Chris headed out the door, in the direction of his SUV. “But you’re getting it anyway, Alpha.” 

Chris was – characteristically – silent as they drove towards the Beacon Brew, where Chris parked and followed Stiles around the back of the building, where Theo was lounging boredly against the brick wall, Scott angrily pacing the space in front of him. “Good morning, Alpha.” Theo said with an exaggerated bow of his head in Stiles’ direction.

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Scott, why are you harassing my beta?” 

Scott turned to Stiles and laughed, “Your beta? Stiles you can’t stand him. You were literally going to kill him.”

Stiles rubbed the bridge of his nose, “And maybe if I had, my entire life would have been simpler at this point.” He looked up, “I bit him into the pack yesterday. Or this morning, whatever the fuck time it was. Go to work, Scott. Let Theo get his coffee and go back to his job making small babies cry or whatever it is he does every day.”

“I’m a journalist.” Theo said, glancing at Chris who just gave an amused one shouldered shrug. 

Scott shook his head, glaring at Stiles, “I wish you had died instead of your dad.” He said, though probably with a lot less vehemence than he’d intended, the words falling flat to everyone’s ears.

Stiles nodded, pressing his lips together as he stared back at Scott, “Me too, buddy. Me too.” He grabbed Theo by the shoulder and pulled the chimera back around to the front of the coffee shop. “Keeping this a secret didn’t go well. Kinda thought you might have, oh, I don’t know, laid low for a couple days.”

Theo scoffed, “You told me to avoid talking to your pack, not to stay hiding in my apartment for the next four days. I just wanted a coffee and to go to work. I know the concept of a normal day job is a bit odd for you, Stilinski, but most of us have them.” 

Stiles stared at the sky and dragged in a breath, begging whatever deity was listening for a measure of patience. “I’ll see you on Sunday, Theo. Try to stay out of trouble for four whole days, okay?” He gripped the beta’s shoulder hard enough to bruise and then turned to get back into Chris’ SUV. The hunter was already sitting in the drivers seat, eyes forward. “You gonna ask?” 

Chris’ lips pulled up into a smile, and he turned his head towards Stiles, “You’re the alpha, Stiles. Didn’t think you needed anyone’s permission to do anything.”

“Permission, no. Opinion? Maybe.” Stiles cocked his head to the side to look at Chris. “And you’re you, so I know you have one of those.”

Chris kept his eyes dutifully on the road as he headed back for the house, “I think it takes a lot of strength to show mercy to a man who tore your life apart. Strength I’m not sure I have. You’re the alpha, and if you think Theo deserves a place in your pack, I’ll back your decision.”

Stiles blinked, turning to watch as they passed familiar sights he hadn’t noticed on their drive in; the high school, the hospital, the sheriff’s station. “People don’t become monsters on their own, not usually. There are always exceptions to the rule, but true, born-and-bred sociopaths are pretty rare. I don’t think Theo is innocent by a long shot. He’s guilty of his crimes, of trying to rip Beacon Hills apart in the quest for power; but he’s one of the only monsters I’ve ever faced that, when I laid out their crimes, didn’t deny them. Just owned up to them. He would have left if I’d said no. He probably wouldn’t even have put up a fight.” Stiles chewed on his thumb, “I don’t think he and I are that different, at the heart of it.” 

“You never murdered a sibling, Stiles.” Chris said, eyebrows pulling together.

“No, but you have. And Malia has.” Stiles said, and Chris exhaled hard. “We’re all monsters in our own way. You’ve killed plenty, including your father and sister. Jordan’s a deputy; he could have to kill at any time. Peter’s a literal serial killer. Derek killed Peter. Jackson was a kanima. Isaac and Cora have never taken an innocent life but Cora survived as an eleven year old, on her own, after watching her family burn. Isaac survived years of abuse, became a werewolf, and never stopped fighting.” Stiles shrugged. “Lydia could kill if she had to, if it ever came down to it, I don’t think she’d hesitate. We’re a pack full of monsters. Theo should fit right in.”

\--

Derek, Peter and Lydia have gone to work by the time Stiles got back to the house, which means the only person he’s going to have to deal with before he can get on with his plans for the day is Jackson, who is sitting at the desk in their bedroom with his laptop and several books on California law. When Stiles enters the room, Jackson spun around in the desk chair to face him, blue-eyes a practiced dull and emotionless. The beta studied Stiles, the alpha frozen in place under the blue gaze. “Are you sure about this, Stiles?”

Stiles nodded, “As sure as I can be about letting someone I’ve hated for almost seven years into my pack.” He licked his lips, crossing his arms over his chest, “Scott threw him out over the enforcer work he asked him to do. Theo pointed out that most of the things he was accused of, other people in the pack were also guilty of. Myself included.” Stiles shrugged, “Also, I was listerally standing on mom and dad’s graves, so, killing him felt wrong.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “If he hurts you, I’m going to kill him. And then I’m going to kick your ass.”

Stiles stepped forward and cupped Jackson’s cheeks, leaning down for a brief kiss. “I promised Theo that if he hurt anyone in the pack, I’d break his bones twice over, and then kill him.” Stiles rubbed his nose against Jacksons, “If you back me with the rest of the pack on this decision, I’ll let you break them the first time around.” 

Jackson cocked an eyebrow but leaned up to kiss Stiles more firmly, his arms wrapped around the alpha’s shoulders. When they finally pulled apart, Jackson smirked and said, “Deal. Now go shower, you still smell like a graveyard.”

Stiles laughed his way to the shower. 

\--

Melissa McCall still lived in the same house she’d always lived in, and to an extent, Stiles’ stomach rolled when he stepped up to ring the doorbell, half expecting Scott to show up. Scott didn’t live with his mother anymore, and really, there was dramatically little he could do to Stiles, but every interaction with him since he’d gotten back to Beacon Hills had created something of a conditioned response for Stiles – Scott was a precursor to shitty feelings.

Instead, Melissa answered the door wearing a soft blue sweater and a pair of jeans, her hair down, held back from her face with a cloth headband. Her eyes were warm and inviting, though the bags under, and the lines around them told Stiles all he needed to know about how the last few years had treated Melissa. “Hey, kiddo.” She said, a smile crossing her lips.

Stiles tentatively returned it and stepped inside when she moved away. “Thanks for making time for me. I know days off are pretty rare.” 

Melissa shook her head, “I always have time for you, Stiles.” She said, dropping onto the couch. Stiles noted that it was a new couch, not the one his nogitsune-possessed body had sat on all those years ago. “And, days off aren’t so hard to come by these days. Having a couple of werewolf nurses, and two werewolf EMT’s in this town honestly makes a huge difference.”

Stiles nodded, “Isaac told me he really enjoys what he does.” He licked his lips, “I assume the other werewolf isn’t one of ours.”

Melissa nodded, “It’s Nolan. Ended up being a good kid, all things considered.” She folded her hands, “You aren’t here to talk about Beacon Hills memorial, though.” 

Stiles drew in a breath, his fingers tapping, “Lydia said something about my dads’ pension, and some life insurance. Seeing as I’m currently incredibly unemployed, and my only marketable skill is as a supernatural hitman, it would be nice to look into other avenues of helping out my pack.”

Melissa nodded. “The paperwork is in my safe. The department stuff just needs some signatures, but it should get approved pretty fast. The life insurance stuff is pretty clear cut too.” She swallowed, “Animal attacks fall under accidental deaths.”

Stiles exhaled sharply through his nose in a sound that could have been a laugh, “That wolf was so out of his mind.” He said softly, “He wasn’t even an omega. He just got on the wrong side of some witches, and by the time he got to Beacon Hills he probably didn’t even know his own name.” Stiles sighed, “If somehow, the slate for the Nogitsune’s kills got wiped, my eyes would still be blue because of him.”

Melissa stood up and walked closer to Stiles, pulling him so that his head rested against her stomach, her hands kneading gently at his shoulders, “Everyone’s got demons, Stiles.” She whispered, “And none of us did anything to help you face yours.” Her voice hitched, “We lost Noah, and then we lost you, and I never did understand why Scott never looked for you. I’m so sorry, Stiles. We failed you. All of us.” 

Stiles gave himself a few minutes to let the apology wash over him, the truth in Melissa’s voice, the vehemence in what she was saying. He let tears slip out of his eyes and clung to Melissa like he had so many years ago when Claudia had just died and Noah was perpetually drunk. “I just wanted to come home.” He breathed, so quiet he wasn’t even sure she could hear it. 

The way her arms tightened around his head said otherwise. The soft feeling of her tears on his hair spoke the truth. “I don’t even recognize him anymore, Stiles.” She whispered. “I know it’s not your job but….” She sank down to her knees, her face a mess of tears, “He’s so angry, all the time. Especially now. He’d never hurt someone, but I know he’s hurting.” 

Stiles blinked away the tears, “The Nemeton.” He said, nodding. “When we went into those ice baths, Deaton warned us we wouldn’t walk away unscathed, that there would always be a darkness around our hearts. We faced them, but his might have come back. Mine kind of got washed away by Void, but he left behind something darker.” Stiles pressed a kiss to Melissa’s forehead, “I can’t promise you anything, Melissa.” 

Melissa nodded, wiping her own eyes, “I’ll talk to Scott, try and convince him to talk to you, or just… anyone.”

Stiles considered, “Tell him to start with Chris Argent.” He said, nodding, “Chris knows a lot about dealing with darkness.” 

Melissa gave him another smile. “I’m so glad to have you back, Stiles.” She said, pressing her own kiss to his forehead, “Let me go get you that paperwork.”

\--  
The conversations about bringing Theo into the pack with Peter, Lydia and Derek were similar in nature to the conversations he’d had with Jackson and Chris. Lydia was appalled, Peter wanted to claim the third round of breaking all of Theo’s bones, and Derek just scowled about it but said that he trusted Stiles’ judgement and he could play nice if he had to.

Cora, Isaac and Jordan had generally neutral outlooks on the situation. Malia seemed almost happy with the development, and in private, told Stiles that she and Theo had formed a reluctant friendship in Scott’s pack, bonding over their shared secrets and lost families. She insisted that he wasn’t as bad as he had once been. Stiles was naturally wary that Malia had been manipulated but agreed to suspend judgement.

It took three weeks, but by the end of it, Stiles was 1.25 million dollars richer, the Stilinski house was cleared out, cleaned up, and on the market for sale, and the second thing Stiles did, after he got a financial advisor at the Pack’s insistence, was claim an office at the Martin & Hale complex for himself, and buy the biggest whiteboard he could find. The third thing was to fly to D.C., dig the ancient Jeep out of the storage he’d put it in years ago, and have it shipped to Beacon Hills to be fully rebuilt. Stiles might have cried when he picked it up from the mechanic, but, nobody ever mentioned it.

Stiles returned to the hunt. It started as a quiet, whispered offer to Lydia and Peter’s customers, that if none of their people were equipped to take out the threat, they could refer them to someone who was. It took a few months for requests for his services to start coming in, but eventually, they did. Most packs didn’t know who he was until he showed up, dressed in simple, black tactical clothing with a messenger bag full of whatever weapons, magical artifacts or information he’d need to take down the target. 

It wasn’t as satisfying as working his way into a pack, rooting out the bad eggs and wiping them off the map in a haze of bloodlust and iron in his mouth, but it paid well, and it meant that most nights, Stiles was home, tucked into bed between his mates, in the pack house, behind wards that would alert him to danger. Word spread, though, as it does around the supernatural community. 

The blue-eyed devil still lived. He still hunted, only now, his eyes were red.


	2. Stilinski pack vs Werewolf Convention, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly-formed Stilinski pack gets invited to a werewolf convention after Stiles' impressive show of claiming a territory without bloodshed.
> 
> If only the convention was going that well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2
> 
> I think part 2 is going to be a bit more like....probably start with angst, then action, and end with smut? maybe? I've been uh....unhappy with my smut writing lately so I've been avoiding it a lot. I'm working on it. 
> 
> I also finally figured out what I'm going to do with Scott, so Stay tuned for that in future parts!

“… and so, because of my stunt when Scott challenged me, I’ve been invited to the Were Council’s fall meeting for the revision of challenge guidelines.” Stiles sat back against his chair and popped another piece of bacon in his mouth, studying the faces of the pack. 

“Can we just back up a minute?” Isaac finally breaks the silence, his eyebrows drawn so far together they may have merged. “There’s a ruling body that actually governs what werewolves do? And they’re supposed to keep tabs on alphas and territories? How in the hell did the Alpha pack happen? How did nobody come to Beacon Hills when the Dread Doctors or the Wild Hunt came to town?” 

Stiles was halfway through chewing a third piece of Bacon, so he looked at Peter and flashed red eyes and a smirk. The beta rolled his eyes and turned to Isaac to answer, “The Were Council is essentially a governmental equivalent of a druid. They practice a lot of non-interference. The Alpha pack happened because nobody on the Were Council was strong enough to challenge Deucalion and stop what he had planned. The Dread Doctors were a myth, and the Wild Hunt has remarkably little to do with werewolves.” Peter can’t help the involuntary shudder at the mention of those godforsaken zombies on horses.

“So basically.” Stiles had finally finished with his bacon and swallowed down a gulp of coffee, “Something like the stunt I pulled – where even after a territory dispute and a challenge of strength, nobody died, is right up their alley. I’m really only even going because I need to point out that things only went the way I predicted they would because I knew that Scott didn’t have the balls to actually kill me. If it had been essentially any other alpha, they probably would have died.”

It probably said a lot that nobody bothered to mention that Stiles could have died, but he did spend five years terrorizing the US as a _beta_ and somehow survived.

“So basically, what you’re saying is that we’re going to a werewolf convention.” Jackson said, fork still in his hand, his eyes half-narrowed at Stiles. 

Stiles turned towards Jackson with a grin, “That’s right, dear.” Stiles winked and patted Jackson’s cheek, which the beta _absolutely_ did not lean into. “We’re going to a werewolf convention.”

“Who’s we?” Jordan asked from further down the table. He was dressed for work already, due for an afternoon shift in a few hours. 

Stiles sat back and grinned, “All of us.” 

\--

“Here’s your badge Mr. – ” The beta werewolf manning the check-in table froze, her hand shaking as she extended the badge to Chris. “Mr. Argent.” 

Chris took the badge with a tip of his head and felt a hand on his lower back, rolling his eyes before he even heard Peter start to drawl, “I assure you, my dear, he’s essentially harmless.” 

“That’s a lie, and you know it, Peter.” Chris grumbled, side-eying Peter hard, “But, I assure you, I’m no threat to you.” 

The werewolf – still looking unnaturally pale for a wolf – nodded and Peter and Chris walked away from the table, Peter’s hand still pressed into Chris’ lower back. “You know, I do wonder where you learned to lie to werewolves.” Peter’s hand dropped lower until they brushed the edge of the knife sheath. 

Chris turned towards Peter, effectively unseating his hand, “Occupational skill.” Chris said with grimace, “I wasn’t coming to a werewolf convention without some way to protect myself, Peter.” 

“Oh no, Argent, surely nobody would expect you to be here unarmed.” Chris and Peter turned to see a short, stocky man with long brown hair pulled back in a single plait. “It wouldn’t really befit a hunter of your…notoriety.” The man flashed red eyes, his fangs lengthening. 

Peter stepped in front of Chris, “I would really, strongly suggest you re-think your actions, Alpha…” Peter squinted to read the name badge, “Gordon Oliver.” Peter felt Chris tense at his back and he flicked his eyes back towards the hunter, “Are the two of you acquainted?”

“No, not this Argent.” Gordon said through his fangs, “I knew his sister.” 

“And he is not his sister.” Peter couldn’t help but physically relax when he heard Stiles’ voice ring through the suddenly very crowded atrium of the hotel ballrooms. “He’s here as a part of a werewolf pack like everyone else here, and he’s armed with a single, non-projectile weapon like every other human is allowed to be.” Stiles, clearly not allowed to dress himself this morning, stepped between Peter and the offending Alpha. “Is that a problem, Alpha Oliver?” 

The stout man drew his eyebrows together and his fangs receded, “Stilinski?” 

Stiles smirked, “Alpha Stilinski.” He flashed red eyes, “And now, since I know most of the attendees at this thing can hear me, I want EVERYONE to listen.” Peter wouldn’t have been surprised if magic had amplified Stiles’ voice, “If ANY of you touch Christopher Argent, there will be hell to pay.” Stiles turned to Peter and Chris, “Peter, you do not let him out of your sight, do you understand me.” 

Peter nodded, “I wasn’t planning to.” 

Chris rolled his eyes, “I’m an adult—” He groaned as his back collided with the nearest wall, Stiles’ clawed hand at his throat. 

Stiles flattened the hand against his throat, pulling the pain from hitting the wall out of Chris’ body, “You’re a human, Chris. Right now, there are two hundred werewolves in this building, and I’d say a solid 90% of them have heard the name ‘Argent’ and probably over half of them have lost someone to the name Argent. Let Peter protect you, please, because I cannot be everywhere.” 

Chris let his head thump back against the wall, “Point proven.” He stared at Stiles for a long moment, “When did you turn into an actual leader?” 

Stiles laughed and stepped away, straightening the dark grey dress shirt that someone (read: Jackson) had stuffed him into, “It’s less about when I became a leader, and more about when people actually started listening to me.” He patted Chris on the cheek and headed way, reaching past to gently squeeze Peter’s neck before heading back in the direction of the check-in booth.

Peter crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Chris, “One, nonprojectile weapon.” Peter cocked an eyebrow. 

Chris gave him a hard look, “I followed the rules.” 

Peter wrapped an arm around Chris’ back and lead him towards a magical lore seminar, leaning in close to whisper, “I suppose no one thought to ban weapons that could be thrown.” 

Chris turned his head slowly, leaning in to nuzzle against Peter’s cheek, “Let’s not remind them.” 

\--

“Five minutes into the meeting and you’re already causing trouble. You haven’t changed at all, Stilinski.” 

Stiles tightened the grip he had on the mug of coffee in his hand, his eyes narrowing for a moment before he relaxed his face and turned with a polite, if disinterested expression, “Alpha Oleander.” He dipped his head in acknowledgement.

Paul Oleander, Alpha of the San Francisco territory smirked back at Stiles, his grey eyes dull, but piercing in the fluorescent overheads. “I heard you settled down. Have a whole pack of your own. I didn’t know you had it in you, Stiles. I thought you’d be a lonely bachelor forever.” 

_Like you?_ Definitely did not come out of Stiles’ mouth but oh did he wish it had. Instead, he simply shrugged one shoulder and took a sip of his coffee, “Turns out there were people out there who wanted me for more than my reputation.” 

Paul’s eyes narrowed slightly, though the overall expression of his face didn’t change much, “Oh, Stiles, if that’s the impression you had of me, I’ve definitely made mistakes.” The alpha stepped forward, inches from Stiles, “I never wanted you just for your reputation, my dear.”

Stiles met the mans eyes, “Well, I never wanted you at all, so why don’t you take a few steps back before this gets messy.”

Paul stepped closer, hand darting out towards Stiles’ neck, only to be intercepted by a hand that was clawed, but definitely not werewolf. The scaly, taloned hand wrapped around the alpha’s wrist, two of the sharp tips breaking the skin just enough for blood to start dripping, and the limb went loose in his grasp. “Oops.” Jackson said with a bright smile, “Sorry, wrong shift.” His hand dropped away, and Paul’s eyes went wide.

“What did you do to me, I can’t feel my hand.” Paul cradled the arm to his chest. The wounds – barely more than punctures, were mostly healed, but Stiles could see from the way his shoulder now drooped that the Kanima’s venom was working its way through his arm.

“I’d like to introduce you to Jackson Whittemore, one of my mates.” Stiles drew him in, Jackson smirking as he tucked himself into Stiles’ side, “Werewolf-Kanima hybrid.” 

“You poisoned me with Kanima venom?” Paul’s other arm was losing it’s grip, and several of his betas moved forward to support him as his knees gave out.

“Poisoned isn’t quite accurate.” Derek said, joining Stiles and Jackson, his arms crossed over his chest, “You’ve been paralyzed. As an alpha, you can expect for it to last oh, around an hour with that dose.” 

“Hour and a half.” Jackson said softly into the curve of Stiles’ throat where he had happily planted his face. 

“And that.” Stiles said, reaching up with the arm not currently occupied by what seemed like Jackson’s entire body to grip at the back of Derek’s neck, “Would be the second of my mates, Derek Hale.” 

“Talia’s son.” Paul spat “All three of the remaining Hale wolves are in your pack?”

Stiles gave one last grin Paul’s way as his betas hauled him upstairs, “Actually, I have four Hale-bloodline shifters in my pack.” He winked, “Have a nice nap, Paul.” When the group of Oleander wolves were gone, Stiles tugged away from Jackson and turned a hard look on him, “Really, Jax? I didn’t even know you had a beta Kanima shift.” 

Jackson shrugged, “I certainly don’t have an alpha Kanima shift anymore, which is probably for the best.” He glanced down at his fully human nails, “Besides, if you want to blame anyone blame Derek. It was his idea.”

Stiles wheeled around to Derek, who was sheepishly staring at the ground. “He’s joking, right?”

“Did my heartbeat stutter?” “He’s not.” 

Stiles gaped, “So you decided that what? The two of you were just going to paralyze any alpha that approached me? At a werewolf convention with thirty or more alphas?”

“Not any alpha.” Derek said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes still downcast, “Just that one.” 

Stiles set his jaw and flicked his eyes between his mates, “And how did you know about my history with Paul Oleander?” 

“Guilty.” Stiles blamed the fact that there were too many goddamn werewolves in this building for the fact that he’d been snuck up on. That, or the fact that the person who had done the sneaking was a particularly gifted witch and an Emissary. Gianna Reyes was Paul Oleander’s emissary, and the only reason that Stiles had been in San Francisco in the first place. She was knowledgeable about both werewolves and magic, and Stiles had worked with her to refine his use of magic. It was she that had taught him to bind away the wolf to bring his ability to do magic back to the fore.

“So, let me get this straight.” Stiles turned again so that his back was now against a wall, and he faced Derek, Jackson, and Gianna. “A random, magical woman walks up to you two, and told you something that made you feel the need to protect me, the Alpha, from another alpha?” Stiles blinked, “Am I close?”

Gianna shrugged one shoulder, reaching up to twirl a lock of shiny, straightened black hair around one of her fingers, “I just pointed out that in the past, Paul was very interested on getting his hands on the so called ‘blue-eyed devil’ and considering these two are _dripping_ with your scent and magical signature, Stiles you really need to learn how to cleanse that, they might want to be particularly attentive if Alpha Oleander decided to get too close for comfort.”

Stiles nodded, chuckling quietly. “Well, it’s fantastic to see you, Gianna, but in the future, my wolves, especially these two, make enough questionable choices when it comes to my safety, they really don’t need help.” 

Gianna grinned widely, and turned to Jackson, holding out a small glass vial. “A donation, so I can go ease my packs suffering?” 

Jackson looked at Stiles, who nodded, and he flicked out a Kanima claw, pressing it against the edge of the glass until a few drops of venom had landed. “Sort of defeats the point if you’re going to make him an antidote.”

Gianna’s smile grew a sharp edge and she shook her head, capping the vial. “I said ease my pack’s suffering, not ease my alpha’s.” She leaned close, “This is to paralyze his tongue too. Only works if it’s a direct injection. It’s for the best, really.” She winked and headed away, the vial stashed safely into the pocket of the long black sweater she was wearing.

“So, she’s terrifying.” Derek said, blinking as he turned from watching Gianna depart to looking at Stiles and Jackson. 

“She’s the only reason Paul Oleander has a pack left.” Stiles said with a shrug, “Make no mistake, Paul is the alpha, and he will fight for his pack, but the betas are loyal first to Gianna, and then to Paul.”

“So, are you actually mad?” Jackson asked, cocking an eyebrow at Stiles. 

Stiles glanced around them and sighed, “No, but that’s already twice this morning that we’ve drawn attention to ourselves and I haven’t even gotten to my damn panel yet.” Stiles glanced at the watch on his wrist, a beat-up thing he’d acquired when they cleaned out his dad’s house. “Which I’m now running late for, so, if you’ll excuse me.” Stiles leaned in to kiss each of them on the cheek, “Please stay out of trouble.”

Jackson’s eyes dragged up Stiles’ form as the alpha walked away and he turned to Derek, leaning in close to the former alpha, “Stay out of trouble is so vague.” 

Derek glanced down at Jackson with a fond smile, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and leaning in to nuzzle at Jackson’s temple, “We could stay out of trouble back in the hotel room.”

A passing wolf snorted at the two of them, turning to take in the sight of the pair of them, their scent screaming with arousal. Jackson rolled his eyes and grabbed Derek’s hand to pull him upstairs, “You just want to go back to your book.” He said with an equally fond smile. 

Derek waited until they were in the elevator, just before the doors closed to lean over and kiss Jackson on the cheek and whisper, “It’s not like you’re not itching to work on your case anyway.”

Jackson turned to him with an arched eyebrow that is truly cements the Hale in his heritage, “Well, the whole convention thinks we’re going upstairs to have sex.”

Derek snorts, “Without Stiles? Unlikely.” He winks. "At least one top has to be in the bed if we're getting our dicks out."

Jackson lets out a screech of laughter and reaches up to pat Derek on the cheek, “I like that rule. Let’s keep that rule.” 

\--

“Thank you all so much for coming today!” 

Stiles sat back in his chair, one hand nervously tapping a pattern against his thigh. The sharp, skintight black-dress clad woman with the microphone at the moment was loud, boisterous and up-beat. She was an emissary from the pack of one of the Council Alphas. Her name was Melanie, and she was the moderator for the panel. Stiles had given Harrison a handshake and a nod, but as he was already running late, he’d been forced to take his seat at the far end of the table. 

“This panel, as you know, is a new panel to discuss the intricacies of territory challenges. Every alpha on this panel is well versed, in some way, in the difficulties that come with holding a highly contested territory or claiming a territory from an uncooperative alpha. Let’s start by introducing our panel! Alphas, could you introduce yourselves please?”

Harrison was sat at the far end of the panel, so he leaned forward with a charming smile at the crowd and spoke first, “Good morning. I’m Harrison Prescott, alpha of the New York City territory. I have to handle three or so territory challenges a year, though, I have to say, my territory is a lot more work than these alphas seem to think it’s going to be.” He chuckled and sat back. 

The other three alphas were unknown to Stiles, and that turned out to be by design; during his ‘reign of terror’ as his pack had taken to affectionately referring to Stiles’ vigilante years, he had, in large part, avoided major metropolitan areas. Zahi Massey was a light-brown skinned middle-aged alpha who spoke with an accent that Stiles couldn’t put his finger on, and held the D.C.-Maryland-Virginia Metroplex Territory. Yuka Van der Veen was a small, Japanese woman who held the Seattle territory. Stiles had never met her, but he’d heard her name, and knew she was a formidable alpha. Sitting directly next to Stiles was Colton Pond, the alpha of the Dallas-Fort Worth territory in Texas. He was a large man, just in general, taller even than Harrison, and built, reminding Stiles an uncomfortable amount of Ennis. 

When it was finally Stiles’ turn, the moderator gave him a bright smile, and he licked his lips and said, “I’m Stiles Stilinski. Alpha of the Beacon Hills territory.” He glanced at the other alphas. “I acquired the territory about six months ago in a territory challenge. It hasn’t been challenged since.” 

The moderator nodded and brought her own microphone back to her lips, “Ah, yes, well, Stiles, as you know, you’re on this panel on to speak about the work that goes into acquiring and maintaining a territory once it’s yours. And,” She turned towards the audience, “Alpha Stilinski completed one of the only territory changes in history to have ended without any death.” Stiles heard intrigued murmurs and tried to keep his face neutral. “Can you tell us about that?” 

Stiles glanced around the crowd and drew in a breath. Six years ago this would have been a cakewalk, he could have talked about this kind of shit for hours. Six months ago, he’d have run, probably fully shifted, from the room rather than actually have to talk about this. “The territory was under the control of a True Alpha who had been trained by a druidic emissary, rather than another wolf. As you may know, the territory is the ancestral home of the Hale pack. When I came into my alphahood, the remaining Hale wolves severed ties with the True Alpha to join my pack. So, at their request, I took the territory back.” 

“To do so without killing the incumbent alpha had to have been quite a feat. Can you talk about that?” 

Annoyance pricked under Stiles’ skin. “I won the territory through a traditional challenge overseen by a 5-alpha panel. Alpha McCall disagreed with the ruling and called for a challenge of Strength. He yielded, I didn’t.” Stiles shrugged.

“It was a sight to behold.” Harrison added from the other end of the table, and Stiles was suddenly incredibly thankful, “I was called in as the previous alpha of one of Stiles’ wolves, to serve on the Panel. McCall had Stiles on his back and Stilinski wasn’t resisting, and the alpha still failed to take the killing blow.” More murmurs from the crowd had Stiles wishing he was anywhere but here.

The moderator looked pleased, “So, you took the bylaws to heart, where they claim the challenging alpha must ‘best’ the other, not necessarily kill! Such an intriguing method.” 

“Yeah, about that.” Stiles leaned closer, “The method I used to take my territory stemmed from three factors; One, I’ve known Alpha McCall since childhood, and I knew he wouldn’t be able to take my life. Two, one of my mates asked me not to kill him if I didn’t have to, and Three, his mother was in the audience of the challenge, and while I may not be on good terms with the son, nobody should be forced to watch their child die.” Stiles was surprised with the vehemence in his own voice, “But I will be very clear that had the challenger been anyone else, literally anyone else, I wouldn’t have hesitated to take them out.”

The crowd was silent this time, and Harrison, thankfully, picked up with the moral dilemma of killing challengers for territory that the other alphas on the panel were happy to participate in. Stiles was quiet for most of the rest of the panel (and increasingly glad he held a small, relatively low-maintenance territory).

When the panel was over, Stiles stayed in his seat for an extra moment as the other Alphas wandered away. He was about to stand up when Melanie stood in front of him, her cheery smile simmered down to fascination, “I have to ask.” Stiles looked up at her and blinked, “Stilinski isn’t a very common name.” She swallowed, “Are you…”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Am I the wolf formerly referred to as ‘the blue-eyed devil’? Yes. I am.” He pushed the chair away from the table and moved to leave. 

“Thank you.” Melanie said quickly. “My alpha, Bernard Rein, he holds the Chicago territory.”

Stiles sucked in a long breath, turning around, “And you’re thanking me? I killed your predecessor.” 

Melanie nodded, somberly, her hands folded in front of her, “He was my brother.” She said, blinking something that might have been tears, “But he’d been….corrupted by his magic. He wasn’t the man I knew. If he hadn’t…” She swallowed, “If he hadn’t started killing children, he might have been eligible to just have his magic drained out, but what you did, it was the right thing.” 

Stiles studied her face, having listened to her heartbeat and confirming that she wasn’t lying about her feelings on the matter. “I had a friend.” He said, licking his lips, “She was a hunter.” He had to tamper down the emotions to finish his sentence, “Before she died, she started to protect people. She and her father, they changed their code. _Nous protégèons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes_. They protected, instead of hunted. A lot of people think I hunted, but I followed the trail of victims, not the perpetrators.”

Melanie gave him a small smile. “I think your name is something of a misnomer, Alpha Stilinski.” She held out a hand, “I’ll be sure to correct others in the future.”  
Stiles’ eyebrows raised, but he took her hand and shook it gently, “Correct it to what?” 

She smiled, pulling her hand back, “I think perhaps what they perceived as a devil might have been an angel in disguise.” She nodded, tipped her head, and walked away. 

\--

When Stiles got back upstairs to his hotel room, his shirt half- unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up, he was greeted to Derek laying on his stomach on the bed, a book propped against the pillows, and Jackson next to him, laptop on his lap, a legal pad resting beside him. Stiles blinked at both of them, “Stay out of trouble didn’t mean, ‘go back to the hotel room’ you know.”

“Oh, but what fun would it have been if we didn’t scandalize the entire convention into thinking Alpha Stilinski’s mates were going back upstairs to fuck the day away instead of actually participating.” Jackson smirked, “How was your panel?”

Stiles shook his head, “Let’s not.” He finished unbuttoning his shirt and knelt on the edge of the bed, tracing a hand down Derek’s spine, the beta falling face first into his book. “Let’s make the scandal believable at least.” He winked and leaned over Derek to press his lips against Jacksons. Jackson carefully closed his laptop and set it on the nightstand before leaning in to reach for Stiles’ belt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've previously read this: I'm working my way through editing out the incest bits, I don't think it added to the story at all.


	3. Stilinski pack vs Werewolf Convention, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just once, Stiles would like to go somewhere without something traumatic happening to one of his pack members.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO THIS CHAPTER 
> 
> !! READ ME !!
> 
> mating bites are now a thing. Jackson and Derek do not have them. There is a VERY bloody/traumatic/possibly triggering scene at the end of this bad boy so if any of the following things are triggers, heed the notes at the bottom;
> 
> kidnapping  
> blood / violence / murder  
> nonconsensual touching  
> implied future rape/non-con

Stiles is still laying naked in the middle of their thoroughly defiled bed when Lydia lets herself into the room a few hours later. Jackson is in the shower despite Stiles whining about it defeating the point of an afternoon delight if he washes it off. Jackson had muttered something pithy about werewolf dick measuring contests and gotten into the shower anyway. Derek, who had, predictably gone back to reading when they were done having sex, glanced up, threw a pillow in the vague direction of Stiles’ crotch.

Stiles blinked his eyes open and gave Lydia a lazy smile, “My darling emissary, what can I do for you?” He yawned and sat up, keeping the pillow artfully arranged despite the fact that Lydia had, without knocking, let herself into their hotel room. They could have been fucking. 

Lydia snorted, “You sound like Peter. He did his job, by the way, as far as I’ve heard, Chris made it the rest of the day without any more threats to his person.” She glanced at the bed, wrinkled her nose and chose instead to sit down in armchair near the window. “Jackson, did you pack Stiles something for tonight?” She asked, barely raising her voice. 

“You know I did, Lydia. You asked me before we left.” Jackson answered, appearing at the door to the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “There’s a reason this trip required so many garment bags.”

The smug, post-coital smirk on Stiles’ face faded, “What’s tonight?” 

Lydia blinked at her alpha, frowning, “Did you look at the itinerary?”

Stiles responded with a glare, “I read the parts you highlighted. I was only late to my panel this morning because _someone_ told _someone else_ that paralyzing one of the other alphas would be a good idea. And then there’s the alpha-emissary breakfast tomorrow morning.” Stiles glanced between Derek and Jackson, who both pointedly ignored him. “What’s tonight?” 

Derek glanced at the ceiling, replaced his bookmark, and turned to Stiles, “The Gala. The fancy dinner party? The reason Lydia forced Cora and Malia into shopping the week before we left?” 

Stiles frowned, “I don’t remember agreeing to this. I already had to wear a button down this morning. This sounds terrifying.” He glanced at Jackson, who was smirking, “Life was so much easier when I was just the bad guy all the time.”

\--

The convention was hosted in Chicago, and the Gala held in the regal, turn-of-the-20th-century ballroom of one of the other hotels in walking distance. At 7:30, once Jackson and Derek had forced Stiles into his suit _sans_ tie after much argument (“I’m the alpha goddamnit, I don’t need a red tie, I have red eyes.”), the trio appeared in the lobby to join the rest of their pack. Lydia wore a flowing teal gown that she’d clearly coordinated with Jordan’s tie. It appeared that both Isaac and Theo had also been helped into their attire for the night, as Isaac had been forced into a blue shirt under a grey suit, and Theo’s entire suit was forest green, coordinating with Cora and Malia respectively. 

“Oh come on.” Theo said, rolling his eyes, “Stiles doesn’t have to wear a tie.” 

“Alpha privileges.” Stiles winked. “And I might have threatened to tear every tie in the room to pieces and Jackson is rather attached to his.” The wolf in question glared at stiles and ran a possessive hand down the summer-sky blue tie he wore.

“Either way, I’m just glad we’re not running late. Again.” Lydia looked past Stiles, Derek and Jackson to nod at Chris and Peter who had finally joined them. Chris had also somehow managed to get away with not wearing a tie, and Peter’s suit was clearly meant to be a statement piece, and somehow the werewolf pulled it off. 

The ballroom had been set up with long buffet tables on the outermost edges. A layer of large circular tables then took up the space around a dance floor. The music playing was just this side of too-quiet for humans to hear clearly, but sat at an acceptable level for the more sensitive werewolf ears that made up the majority of the people in the room. As they moved through the crowed towards the beginning of the buffet table, Chris found himself in the middle of a not-subtle square made up of Peter, Jackson, Derek, and then Stiles at his back. 

An hour later found Stiles still pointedly seated at the table they’d acquired for the pack, his back to a wall, eyes scanning his surroundings. The table was currently empty aside from him, as Peter and Chris were deep in conversation at a different table across the ballroom, Jackson and Derek were at Harrison’s table, and Lydia, Malia, and Cora had coerced Jordan, Theo and Isaac onto the dance floor. 

“For an alpha with two mates, you’re awfully lonely tonight.”

Stiles looked up to see the Seattle Alpha, Yuka Van der Veen, dressed in a sharp black jumpsuit, elegant black hair curled and pulled away from her face, looking at him. “If I’d had it my way, I’d have just stayed in the hotel room.” 

The alpha helped herself to a seat, “You’re doing remarkably well for someone who’s only been an alpha for 6 months. Being around this many alphas without getting into some kind of fight can be difficult.”

Stiles reached for the wine glass Jackson had abandoned, if only to have something in his hand, “I got as much of the fighting as possible out of my system before I upgraded.” He flashed his eyes and took a sip of the wine, trying not to grimace. “My pack got into two fights between breakfast and my panel, so, taking care of those was more than enough work for the day.”

Yuka smiled, “Yes, I think every alpha in here has heard about the stunt with the Kanima venom. Paul tried to get your mate ejected from the convention. I’ve never seen Alpha Prescott so defensive of someone before.” 

Stiles grinned, “Harrison likes Jackson. He’s a good man. They both are.” Stiles found Jackson, smiling, “Besides, I think a few hours in time out was preferable to death.” Stiles met Yuka’s eyes, “I’m not very fond of people who force themselves on others.”

Yuka nodded sagely, reaching for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, “You’re the one who took out Gage Thomas’ pack of blue-eyed monsters.”

Stiles sat up straighter, blinking, “The only alphas that know about that are the ones on my challenge panel.”

Yuka nodded, “Harold told me. Thomas didn’t have a fixed territory. Salt Lake City wasn’t actually his territory. He was on the run.” 

“On the run?” Stiles asked, taking another sip of the wine.

“My right hand, and Harold’s, and Alpha Pierce’s, who holds Portland, were working together, tracking the pack, setting up to hand evidence over to the council. Right up until a certain well-known wolf found his way into the pack.” Yuka sipped the champagne, “We weren’t sure what you were going to do, but the seconds held off, and a month later, they were all dead.” 

Stiles looked up from the wine to meet Yuka’s gaze, “Sorry I ruined your operation.” 

Yuka shook her head, “No, Stiles, thank you, for ridding this world of trash like Gage Thomas.” She leaned forward to place a warm, soft hand on top of his, “Too many alphas think they’re invincible, too wolves many think rules don’t apply to them. Hunters only care if it’s humans who get hurt. You, you handled situations hunters wouldn’t touch.”

“Handle.” Stiles said with a wink, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket and passing one of the business cards Lydia had forced into his possession across the table. “My methods aren’t what they used to be – hard to join a pack as an alpha, but I haven’t retired, just yet.”

Yuka took the card and gave a brief nod, “It’s a pleasure to know you, Alpha Stilinski.” She stood from the table, only to be replaced with a more familiar face and a broad smile. 

Stiles set the wine down and sat back, “You look lovely.” He said as Gianna arranged her dress so she could sit more comfortably. 

Gianna gave an appreciative glance Stiles’ direction and winked, “Someone dressed you well, since I know for a fact you don’t know the first thing about how formal wear is supposed to fit.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes, “The only thing more terrifying than Jackson when it comes to clothing is Jackson and Lydia working together.” 

Gianna sipped her drink, “Lydia is your emissary, the young banshee. I met her today. She’s…” Gianna glanced around, “She has sharp edges.”

“She was mistreated by her former alpha.” Stiles said, “My whole pack has sharp edges, Gianna. You know as well as I do the damage a bad alpha can cause.” 

Gianna glanced around carefully, “Stiles, you do not want Paul as an enemy.”

Stiles leaned in, “I’ve never given him any indication that I was anything to him.” He said, “You cannot put what happened this morning on me.”

She shook her head, “I’m not trying to place blame, I’m giving you a warning.” She gave him a small, tense smile, “Paul doesn’t take well to being humiliated. I’ve spent the day talking him down, but, Stiles he’s talking about doing something drastic.” 

Stiles sat back in his chair with a heavy breath, “What is he going to do? Challenge me? For what? His territory is two hours from mine. I’m an alpha, he can’t challenge my alpha for possession of me.” 

Gianna shrugged, “I don’t know what he has planned. Be vigilant, Stiles.” She reached over to pat his cheek, “You deserve the happiness you’ve earned yourself, my dear. Guard it fiercely.” She wandered away as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving Stiles trying to work through her warning.

\--

The following morning, Lydia had dragged Stiles out of bed so the pair of them could attend the alpha-emissary breakfast. Stiles barely listened, trying to consume enough coffee to be functional, while a senior emissary talked at length about the importance of harmony between an alpha and their emissary. 

As the first Emissary stepped down from the podium, and the second stood up to take her place, a chill went down Stiles’ spine and he sat up, his heart racing. Lydia turned to look at him, getting a far-away look in her eyes just before Theo and Isaac spilled into the room, bee-lining for Lydia and Stiles, both torn up and bloody, dressed in mismatched, hastily assembled outfits, “Stiles, someone took them.” Theo said, bracing himself against the wall with a wince. “We heard the scuffle but they…” He coughed, the blood spattering out onto his hand black and goopy, “Chris is on his way down with the wolfsbane stores.”

“Who is them?” Stiles asked, suddenly completely awake. “Who did they get?”

Theo’s coughing fit had returned, so Isaac swallowed harshly and looked up, genuine fear in his eyes, “Jackson and Derek.” 

An angry snarl ripped out of Stiles, and he stood up, immediately cataloguing who was in the room and who wasn’t. He turned back to where Jordan and Chris had brought Lydia the black tactical box that contained their supplies of wolfsbane, mistletoe and mountain ash. 

“Peter, Malia and Cora?” Stiles asked, eyes flaring red as he asked the question, trying to beat back the panic in his chest by focusing on the task at hand.

“Tracking them. My orders were to get close but not engage until they heard from you.” Chris answered quickly, dressed in last night’s dress shirt, now with a shoulder holster strapped across his chest and a crossbow in hand. “They tried to incapacitate everyone with wolfsbane powder. Someone is helping them, someone with magic, Stiles. Someone got through the wards on your room, managed to keep me and Peter completely unaware until they were gone. Derek and Jackson are both strong fighters, it’s unlikely someone inexperienced would be able to take them.”

“Those three have been treated for wolfsbane?” Stiles asked, tearing his way out of the dress shirt, leaving himself in a heather grey undershirt and his black dress pants.

“I treated them first. Sent Isaac and Theo to notify you.” Chris nodded, “Jackson got his tracker activated before they subdued him completely.” 

Stiles smiled, whispering, “Good boy.” Mostly to himself. 

Harrison appeared at Stiles’ shoulder, “What do you need?” He asked, face stern, “Who did this?” 

Stiles looked up at the older alpha and shrugged, blinking back the anger that surged again. A memory from the night prior teased in the back of his head, and his eyes narrowed on Gianna, whose alpha was suspiciously missing. She looked back at him with tear-filled brown eyes. “Oleander.” He hissed, stalking towards her. “You knew.” He pulled the wolf back from the edge, allowing his anger-fueled spark to divert anyone who would have stopped him. Alphas and emissaries alike watched with a mix of fascination and fear. 

Gianna held up her hands in surrender, tears falling, “Stiles, my daughters.” She said, “He was threatening my daughters if I told you, if I warned you at all, or tried to leave the convention, he would have them killed before I could get home. It was a risk to even warn you. I was hoping you’d ward.”

“I _did_ ward.” Stiles said, inches from her, face still human. “Someone helped him get through my wards.” He swallowed and turned as he heard more people spilling into the room. He stepped away from Gianna, turning back only for a moment, “You, and anyone else who isn’t in support of Paul Oleander better be gone in the next hour. I make no promises that anyone else who stands between me and my mates will live to talk about it.”

Stiles spun when he felt a hand on his shoulder, snarling until he saw Harrison staring down at him, holding both hands up. “What do you need from us, Stiles?” The werewolf council stood with Harrison, forming a close half circle.

“Stay out of my pack’s way.” He said, “And get ready to help a new alpha hold the San Francisco territory.” Stiles spun away from them to where his pack was standing near the table he and Lydia had been seated at. The other alphas and emissaries had vacated it, and Theo and Isaac were helping themselves to the leftovers.

Stiles’ phone rang and he slid it from his pocket, expecting Peter or Malia to be calling with an update, but instead, it was a call from Derek’s phone. “Paul.” He answered quietly, heading out of the busy banquet room towards the hotel lobby, the pack scrambling to follow.

“You certainly figured that out quickly, Stiles. I should have known, you always were quick to put together puzzles.” Paul sounded smug, but Stiles mostly tuned him out, listening past the voice to hear the heartbeats in the room. “You know, all of this could have been avoided. There was really no need to make a big deal out of what accounted to little more than a friendly affectionate gesture.”

“Or a bad touch, depending on who’s doing the defining.” Stiles had to carefully think about not cracking his phone as he held it to his ear, “What do you want, Paul?”

“I want what you have, Stilinski.” Stiles could hear the smirk, “You don’t need both of them, so, you pick. Who do you get back whole, and who do I make mine? You haven’t given either of them a mating bite, it’s really a shame. You’ve left them so… _vulnerable_.”

Stiles curled his other hand into a tight, clawed fist, “They’re people, Paul, not toys. I’m not picking between them.”

Paul hmm’d into the phone, and through the line, Stiles could hear the grunt and hiss that was probably Jackson waking up. “I was afraid you might say that, Stiles. I guess, if I have to choose, I’ll take the Hale. Less likely to paralyze me, I guess. He seems fragile, he’ll break easily enough.”

Stiles’ heart tightened in his chest and he saw Chris take a call on his own phone and sprint for their rented SUV. “They’re people, Paul, not toys. Not pawns. I know you’re sick but to force a mating bite is cold even for you.”

The SUV pulled up to the curb, and Stiles climbed into the passenger seat as the rest of the pack piled in, Chris speeding off towards the location probably given by Peter. Everyone was carefully silent, knowing that the alpha could hear everything on Stiles’ end of the line as well as Stiles could. 

“Well isn’t that interesting.” Paul said with a little chuckle. The line went dead.

Stiles slammed the phone against the console and looked at Chris, “How far away?” 

“Not too far.” Chris answered, He passed his phone to Stiles, “Do you know this man?” He asked, “Peter and the girls can’t get any closer. They say almost everyone is a wolf except for this man.

Stiles sucked in a breath and swapped back to the navigation app, “Yeah. Remember Gage Thomas? The benefactor of my alpha spark?” He asked, everyone in the car nodding. “Yeah, well, that’s his emissary, who was out of the country when I took Gage and the pack out. His name is Ilya.”

Stiles stared ahead, trying to keep himself in check, constantly running his awareness down Derek and Jackson’s pack bonds. A mating bond, a mating bite, wasn’t to be taken lightly. Werewolves mate for life, and it wasn’t something Stiles was going to give either of his lovers until he was sure there wouldn’t be regrets. Everything between the three of them just…worked, but there was a part of Stiles that was still waiting to fuck it all up. To get up in the middle of the night and run away, and this time leave two men alone in the bed behind him. He hadn’t withheld mating bites because he didn’t trust them, but because he still didn’t trust himself.

They arrived a few blocks away from the warehouse and walked (read: ran) the rest of the way to rendezvous with the three pack members that were already there. It was eerily quiet in the middle of the metal buildings that should have echoed every noise made. Peter pointed out exactly the line they couldn’t get through, and Stiles stepped back away from the line of wards for a moment. He needed to pull his anger back, pull the wolf back, but that meant dropping the constant monitoring of the pack bonds. He looked at Peter, “Keep their pack bonds in your awareness. If anything changes...” 

“You’ll be the first to know.” Peter nodded, eyes blazing blue in the mid-morning sun.

Stiles inhaled deeply and tethered himself, pulling the wolf back and reaching forward again to touch the ward line, calling forward a burst of his own will to shatter the wards, pushing more power than was needed into it, feeling his magic seek the creator of the wards, feeling his magic over power the emissary, burn him out and leave nothing but a shell behind. As the man and wards broke, the morning shattered into noise; pounding feet, the scent of fear and anger and arousal, heartbeats, breathing. Stiles launched himself forward once the wards were down, close enough to smell his mates.

He didn’t bother with the betas that rushed him, knocked away by his own betas or by delicately placed bullets from Chris’ gun. Lydia stayed to the back, Jordan as her guard, ready to attack if need be, but largely there to defend and heal. Malia, Peter and Theo were lethal and vicious, Isaac and Cora incapacitating the wolves and passing them to one of the others for the final blow. 

It took only minutes for Stiles to tear his way to where a large, heavy form blocked Derek’s body from him, Jackson bound beside the pair, his face tear streaked, a strip of heavy duct tape over his mouth. Everything happened in slow motion then; Peter’s cry of Derek’s name, Derek’s cry shattering the silence, Jackson’s scream from behind the duct tape, and Stiles tearing Paul Oleander away from him all in the same moment. Stiles barely kept from staggering as he felt Derek’s pack bond snap, fade away. 

Stiles held Paul off the ground by his throat, but the other alpha just grinned down at him, mouth full of blood, full of Derek’s blood. “You were fast, Stiles, but even you’re not superman.” Paul said, being intentionally vicious as he licked the blood from his lips “He’s mine now. You really want to kill his mate? Don’t you know what that can do to a wolf? He’ll lose himself.” Paul swiped a heavy arm at Stiles’ head, which the alpha dodged.

Stiles kept his grip on the larger man’s throat until Jordan came to bind his hands with wolfsbane rope. Once he was secured and gagged (Stiles didn’t miss that Jordan’s hands seemed a lot warmer than necessary as he restrained the alph) and the rest of his betas were either subdued or dead, Stiles turned around to look at his mates, heart breaking. Derek was still, heart still beating, but his eyes on the ceiling. Jackson was tucked against Lydia’s chest. Stiles knelt between the two of them. Lydia was easing the duct tape off Jackson’s mouth.

Cora had tugged Derek’s head into her lap, the bleeding bite on his neck red and angry against the skin around it. Stiles leaned over Derek. “Derek?”

“He’s paralyzed. His tongue too.” Jackson said, trying to pull himself together. “He—Oleander told me I could either paralyze Derek or kill him.” Jackson leaned over and ran a hand through Derek’s hair, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I swear, I thought he was going to take me.” Derek’s eyes burned fiercely up into Jackson and then flicked to Stiles. He smelled angry and terrified, and without the pack bonds, it was impossible to be sure who the anger was directed towards.

Lydia had moved, pulling the backpack from her back and digging through to find the kanima antivenom they kept stocked, loaded a syringe with it and jabbed it into Derek’s thigh. Derek’s eyes slipped closed for a moment, but a very tense three minutes later, they opened again and Derek licked his lips and turned his head toward Jackson, “This is NOT your fault.” He said, vehemently. 

Chris managed to get an arm wrapped around Jackson’s chest before the other man collapsed back onto the floor in relief. 

Derek turned to Stiles. “I didn’t consent to this, Stiles. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.” Derek sat up, scrambling up to a seat, hand coming up to his neck, tears slipping out of his eyes. “I…” 

Stiles looked at the ground, “I can kill him, Der, but I’m afraid we’ll lose you.” He said, hands clenching and unclenching. 

“I don’t care, Stiles. You can pull me back, you can bite me back into your pack. Please.” Derek said, “I don’t want this. I want you. And Jackson, I don’t want this.” Derek stepped forward, his hands clenching in Stiles’ shirt, “I love you.” He whispered.

Stiles leaned forward to kiss Derek’s forehead, nodding. “Cora, Peter.” He said, “Hold him.” The betas moved to each take one of Derek’s arms. “Jordan, back away.” He waited for the sound of the hellhounds footsteps before he moved.

Stiles turned around and with a slash of his claws the gag fell in pieces from Paul’s mouth, his lips also bloody from the action. “The really sad thing about all of this, Oleander? If you had just been straightforward with me, years ago, maybe you’d have had a shot.” Stiles ran his claws viciously though Oleanders chest, not enough to kill him, but enough to flay skin and bone. “I was such a mess back then. All I wanted was a pack to love me, to give a shit about me. You treated me like I was some kind of weapon. Some kind of toy. Like you were going to tame me.” A pair of downward strokes split open quadriceps from hip to knee, Stiles flicking the blood on his claws to the side, his white shirt spackled with backspray.

“You were a beta,” Paul hissed through broken lips, his arms clearly straining against his restraints. “You were a blue-eyed one at that. That’s all you blue-eyes are good for, killing. That’s why I bit Derek. Something vicious like a Kanima is bound to have blue eyes.” 

“Something vicious.” Stiles laughed a low, dangerous laugh, “All we’re good for.” He slashed through Paul’s Achilles tendons, pushing his bleeding body to the side as he turned around, facing his pack. “Derek, love.” He said softly, “Flash your eyes.” 

Paul watched in horror as the beta – his mate – flashed blue eyes at Stiles, giving him a small smile. “Talia’s son has blue eyes?”

Stiles turned around, “Blue eyes don’t make you a monster, Paul.” He whispered, dropping down close to the other alpha, “People like you, you’re what turn us into monsters.” There was a croonining tone in Stiles’ voice, a cadence that felt unfamiliar and familiar all the same. Paul tried to scramble back away from it, but Stiles grabbed him by the throat again, his hand tightening minutely, his face serene as he watched the man’s body, bleeding and red and torn, go limp in his grasp, begin to spasm again, and then, with a howl of pain from Derek, go limp a final time. The rush of the alpha’s power seared through him, and knocked Stiles away from the edge, burned the bloodlust back.

Stiles dropped the now dead body and turned to where Derek was struggling against Peter and Cora’s grasps, his eyes burning blue and his face shifted. “Hold him.” Stiles said, grabbing for one of Derek’s flailing arms, sinking his teeth into the flesh there, and then tugging Derek out of the beta’s arms and into his own iron grasp.

Derek’s thrashing subsided as the pack bond cemented, as his wolf was reminded about the pack it belonged to, about the mates – even if not bitten – that it knew. Derek’s face pressed into Stiles’ throat, his hands weakly grasping at Stiles’ back. “Stiles I…” He pulled back, shaking his head, “Its still…” He sank to his knees, pressing his head into Stiles’ stomach, looking up, “I don’t want _his_ bite to scar.” He breathed, burying his face into Stiles’ bloody stomach, Stiles’ hands running slowly through his dirty hair.

Stiles nodded, looking around. Jordan kept watch at the door, eyes burning orange. Isaac, Theo and Malia formed a loose formation around the small clump of betas that were still alive. Peter had moved and was indelicately preparing Paul’s body for disposal with a large knife that Chris had handed to him. Cora had wrapped an arm around Lydia’s shoulders, steadying the banshee as she took in the death around her. Jackson stood a few feet from the pair of them, watching through tear-bright blue eyes. Stiles held out his arm towards the beta.

Jackson didn’t hesitate to close the gap, tucking himself into Stiles’ side, one of Derek’s hands migrating to rest on Jackson’s hip. “I’ll bite over it.” Stiles said softly, “But not here, okay?” He tilted Derek’s head up so he could look into his eyes, “When we get home, I’ll give both of you the mating bite, if that’s what you want. Then, this will never happen again.” Derek gave a small nod, and Jackson whispered, “Please” into Stiles’ skin. 

Chris, who had placed a phone call, hung up the phone and turned to Stiles, “Alpha, the council is coming in to clean this up. Harrison booked the three of you on non-stops to Sacramento leaving in three hours. Go back to the hotel, get cleaned up and get them home. We’ll take care of this and then head home.”

Stiles gave his second a small, thankful smile, “Keep my pack safe, Argent.” Chris responded with a sharp nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kidnapping - Jackson and Derek get incapacitated and kidnapped  
> blood / violence / murder - Stiles' dark side/bloodlust comes out to play when dealing with the person who hurt his mates.  
> nonconsensual touching - Derek is paralyzed by Jackson (Jackson is coerced into it) and forced to receive a mate bite from the other alpha.  
> implied future rape/non-con - it is barely there, but if Stiles had not intervened, the mate bite would have been 'consummated', which, given the total lack of consent on Derek's part, would be rape.
> 
> also, because I'm not a monster, I think the next whole chapter is going to be soft soft soft soft fluff/smut/affection. 
> 
> Then back to the regularly scheduled angst because we still have to deal with Scott.


	4. comfort comes in many flavors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stilinski pack recovers from their no good, very bad morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I mentioned smut and failed to deliver IM SORRY I just 
> 
> ugh I love non-sexual very intimate scenes its my toxic trait. 
> 
> enjoy!!

Lydia Martin did not break. 

She had been fighting for her life since she was sixteen years old. She’d survived an attack by an insane Peter Hale, she’d survived the first love of her life turning into a Kanima. She’d survived the darach’s attack, losing one of her best friends to death and the other to a monster. She’d survived the Deadpool, the Dread Doctors, Eichen House. She had loved so fiercely and with so much dedication that she pulled Stiles back from the Wild Hunt. 

Nothing had come as close to breaking her as the day they’d gotten word that Stiles was a werewolf. Her wonderful, witty, loving, loyal friend had been bitten, was in a pack, was somewhere that wasn’t home in Beacon Hills with them where, as he had for them so many years ago, they could keep him safe. She’d fought Scott, but the alpha refused to budge, refused to even consider that the right place for Stiles was with them. 

Derek had been her closest ally in the fight. The two of them had worked, side by side, to track Stiles’ movements, listened anxiously when the news went dry for months, desperate for some proof that he was alive. If he was alive, even if he was feral, they could get him back. Even Peter, who Lydia now had a grudging respect for, was confident that Stiles wouldn’t lose himself to the wolf, that Stiles had always shown such promise and such an aptitude for werewolf behavior. 

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, they’d gotten Stiles back, the shattered, broken version of him, with red eyes and a dangerous aura. Still, when he held her, she felt, for the first time in so many years, safe. Stiles’ arms were, and had always been, it would seem, where she felt the safest. And, watching him tenderly hold Derek and Jackson against him, covered in blood; blood shed to protect them, to keep them safe even if he had been a moment too late, Lydia was the closest to breaking that she’d ever been.

Because even now, when they were doing everything by the book; coming to werewolf conventions, playing by the rules, a stable pack in a defended territory, the monsters were still going to come. Watching Stiles tear an alpha apart with his claws helped; knowing that he was on their side, that he would protect them, but the fear, the not knowing, the sheer fact that at any given moment she could open her mouth and scream for someone she loved, it was suddenly overwhelming.

“Lydia?” She jumped at the voice, blinking out of the memories of the warehouse to stare down at her hands, flushed red from the heat of the water. 

“In here.” She called, probably unnecessarily, a running shower was a pretty clear giveaway. 

The snick of the door also made her jump, and she tried to shake the fear away, the fear that the person joining her wasn’t the man she loved but an imposter. There was a series of small thumps; clothing hitting the ground, and then the curtain pulled back. She forced her eyes open, forced herself to look at Jordan. The Hellhound gave her a warm smile, and she stepped out of the water to allow him to wash the blood and gunpowder from his own body. Lydia rested her head on the wall of the shower, forcing herself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

It took less than a minute, total, for Jordan to pick up on the fact that something was wrong. He reached out an arm towards her, and she gratefully stepped close to him, letting him wrap strong arms around her shoulders, and hold her up as the fear, the sobs threatened to shake her apart. “They’re okay.” Jordan said softly, against her ear, even as Lydia had to work to drag in gaping breaths, “They’re okay. They’re going home, Stiles is going to make sure they stay safe. In a matter of hours they’ll be back behind the wards. You didn’t have to scream today, Lydia.”

Because in public, in the face of danger, Lydia didn’t break, but here, in the quiet of a hotel room, wrapped in the supernaturally warm arms of her love, Lydia allowed herself to break. 

Death followed her. Jordan followed death. Lydia worked in the shadows and played with secrets, followed the laws of math and probability. Jordan held fast to the rules, played by them even in the face of his own death, and emerged from wrong decisions more set in his resolve. Jordan could die, but there was a comfort in knowing that someone would have to work very hard to do so. Lydia was fragile, breakable, but surrounded by an entire pack who would defend her to their last breath. For them, she stayed strong. But, in the quiet moments, when they were alone, when it was just the hellhound and his banshee, Lydia let herself break, and trusted Jordan to piece her back together.

\--

There had been a time, a lifetime ago, when Isaac had been ripped from one world of fear and pain, thrust into a world of fear and pain where he was remarkably more durable. Back then, before alpha packs and darachs and the Nogitsune, Isaac had trusted Derek Hale with his life. And then, everything had changed. Then, he’d lost in the span of a few months, almost all of the people he had left to care about. Erica, dead in some janitors closet in an abandoned bank, alone when she’d deserved so much more. Boyd, staring into the eyes of his alpha as his claws ripped apart his chest and killed him. Allison, beautiful, radiant, strong, _human_ firing a perfectly placed arrow only to be killed with a single blow from the Oni’s sword, ending her life.

Parts of Isaac had died each of those days; finding Erica, watching Boyd, hearing the slow, beat of Allison’s heart drop off into silence. And, even after all of that, after running away with Chris, Isaac had found his way back to Beacon Hills, back into Scott’s pack. He had a good job, he liked nursing, he enjoyed spending time with the pack and not always being the one fighting to protect. 

Derek had brought Isaac into this world of fangs and claws, Scott had offered him a safe place to land when the world had chewed him up and spat him out. 

But nothing, nothing either of them had ever done compared to watching Stiles Stilinski methodically tear a pack and an alpha to shreds to defend his own. It was a masterful display of knowledge and restraint. It, for the first time in a very long time, gave Isaac hope that this time, this pack wouldn’t be torn apart by self-deprecating choices or uneducated greed. Stiles had, from that fateful night, treated Isaac with respect and even affection, and now, watching his alpha rip through someone who meant to do harm to his pack, Isaac should have felt afraid, but instead, he felt comforted.

There was a knock on the door to his and Theo’s hotel room, and Isaac frowned, tearing his gaze away from the window to glance through the peep hole, opening the door to reveal a showered and casually-dressed Cora Hale. “Hey.” He said, flashing a half smile that he knew didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Can I come in?” She asked. With her arms crossed over her chest, her hair tied up and away from her face, dressed in a tank top and athletic leggings, Isaac couldn’t help but acknowledge how small she looked. 

He stepped away and motioned for her to enter, and then closed the door behind her. “We worked pretty well together, today.” 

Cora didn’t look back at him but he heard a little huff of laughter, “I guess you’re okay for someone trained by my brother of all people.” Isaac didn’t miss the little choke on the word brother, the blip in her heartbeat. 

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Isaac asked, wishing he hadn’t.

Cora turned around, her normally stoic face crumpled, “I don’t know.” She said, lip quivering, arms wrapped around herself like she was cold. “I hope so? I trust that Stiles will do everything he can but it just….” She swallowed. “His entire life, people just keep using Derek. I thought, finally, maybe with Stiles he would actually be treated well, and then this.” 

Isaac nodded, walking back to the chair he was sitting in before and dropping back into it, holding open his arms. Cora was shaking slightly as she curled herself into his lap, tucking her head underneath his chin. “Your brother was the second-best alpha I’ve ever had.” Isaac said, “Though, his competition for the spot isn’t very good. Derek is so strong, Cora. He took me and Boyd and Erica and gave us a second chance. Jackson and Stiles are two of the smartest, most ruthless, most dedicated people I know when they put their heads to something. If anyone can help Derek through this, it’s those two.”

“Erica would have liked this pack.” Cora said softly, tracing the stitching on the collar of Isaac’s shirt. “If Stiles had been an alpha back then maybe she’d still be here.” 

Isaac felt his heart lurch in his chest and he had to drag in a long breath himself before he could speak again, “If Stiles had been an alpha back then, he’d have been an alpha when he was the Nogitsune, and that would have been even more horrifying.”

Cora nodded, the movement tickling Isaac’s chin with her hair. “I’m glad you joined this pack, Isaac.” She said softly, tilting her head to press a chaste kiss to Isaac’s throat. “You deserved better than McCall.”

“I told you Derek was the second-best Alpha. Right now, we have the best, and he’s going to take care of your brother.” Isaac said, “Taking care of people, even when they don’t know it, is what Stiles does best.” 

\--

Theo and Cora had stepped out of their respective hotel rooms at nearly exactly the same time, facing each other for a long, silent moment. “He’s been staring out the window for like fifteen minutes.” Theo said, “He has one of those far-away looks.”

“Yes well, unlike some people, he has a working knowledge of how caring works.” Cora retorted, “And Derek was the person who turned him, so he’s worried about him probably.”

“And what’s your excuse for being so tense, Littlest Hale?” Theo asked, stepping just close enough that he could smell the tension and worry on her. 

“He’s my brother.” Cora said, shoving his shoulder. “Malia’s shifted. I can’t get her to shift back. I was coming to find Uncle Peter since the two people who can usually bring her back are unavailable.” 

Theo nodded, “I’ll see if I can help. Malia listens to me…sometimes.” Sometimes meaning almost exclusively when Malia was exactly like this; out of control, afraid of her own feelings, and desperate for someone else to tell her what to do because feeling like a human was too painful. Stunted sense of morality and warped emotional intelligence didn’t mean Theo was stupid; what he and Malia did was consensual, if not the most safe or sane.

Cora scowled, “Don’t you think sex is a little distasteful right now, Theo?”

Theo smirked and motioned to the door of her hotel room, “Tact never was a strong suit of mine. Would you rather I give Malia what she needs, or we try to get a Coyote through TSA?” 

Cora rolled her eyes and swiped the hotel key at the reader before she turned on her heel to knock at Theo and Isaac’s door. Theo slipped into the room, careful to flip the deadbolt on the door before he turned around to face a quietly growling brown-and-grey coyote. Theo dropped into a crouch. “You know the rules, Malia.” He said softly, reaching out to scratch at her chin. “Bestiality doesn’t do it for me.”

Malia huffed a whine and turned her head away. A moment later she was back in human form, naked, hair disheveled, still bloody. “And what if this time, I don’t want sex?” She asked, her teeth bared. 

“Well first, you need a shower anyway.” Theo said, nodding her head towards the bathroom. “You know I’d never touch you without permission, Mal.” 

Malia snarled quietly but stood up, stepping towards the bathroom. “Will you stay with me?” She asked quietly. “While I shower?” 

Theo cocked an eyebrow but nodded, following her into the bathroom, leaning back against the door as she stepped into the shower, rinsing away the evidence of their traumatic morning. “Why were you shifted?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Malia grumped.

“Okay.” Theo said softly, listening to the steady beat of her heart as she washed blood and dirt away. She was quick about it, faster even than he was, and when she stepped out, Theo wrapped a towel around her shoulders. Malia leaned back against him then, letting her weight fall against his chest. Theo rubbed at her skin gently with the towel, wrapping her hair up in a second one before cracking the door. When Malia didn’t move, he rolled his eyes and moved to pick her up around the middle, dropping her onto one of the beds, peeling a laugh from her. 

Malia stared at him then, cocking her head to the side and teasing her bottom lip between her teeth. “Okay but what if I just wanted like, a little sex?”

Theo smirked and reached for the hem of his shirt. “As long as you use your words.” He said with a wink.

Malia’s eyes raked up Theo’s body. “Please.” She said, letting the towel fall away.

\--

By the time Chris and Peter returned to the hotel from managing things with the Werewolf Council, it was nearly ten PM and they were both exhausted. Stiles, Derek and Jackson were safely back in Beacon Hills, tucked away in their heavily warded house. From the quiet eavesdropping that Peter would never in a million years admit to, their banshee was quite contentedly wrapped up in their hellhound, Cora and Isaac were sleeping, and Peter had intentionally stopped listening three seconds into listening into the room that Malia and Theo were in. 

(He, however, couldn’t blame his daughter for her choices; had he not spent the day neck-deep in werewolf politics and disposing of bodies, he probably would have sought out carnal pleasures as well. Maybe it was hereditary.)

For now, he and the hunter shared a quiet shower, Chris as worn out from the days’ events as Peter was. The wolf let the Hunter wash his hair, all too happy to rest against the warm, solid wall of the other man. When they were both clean, they fell into the same bed, and Peter was not too proud to admit that he happily curled into Chris’ chest, listening to the steady thrum of the hunter’s heart as he tried to quiet his mind. 

A million years ago, when he’d laid in the hospital bed, mad and alone, he’d never allowed himself to remember what it was like to sleep with another person. Those memories; that person, burned to ash alongside his family, was too painful to think about. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, when he was curled inexplicably in the arms of a member of the family that had destroyed his own, he allowed himself to remember. 

“You’re thinking pretty loudly, wolf.” Chris murmured, nosing against Peter’s damp hair. 

“I had a mate once.” Peter said softly, surprising even himself by the admission. The hunter stilled, but his arms tightened around him. “I know exactly what Derek is feeling right now. The emptiness. Like a piece of you is missing.” 

“The fire?” Chris asked softly.

Peter nodded, “He was human.” He said, swallowing hard, “We’d only been mated a few months when the fire happened. He was twenty-three. A medical student.” Tears burned in Peter’s eyes, “When the fire started, he tore his own shirt to pieces to wrap around the children’s faces. He and I went to find a way out, he was going to break the ash line, and then…” Peter drew in a long, shaky breath, “A crossbeam came down and I couldn’t get him out of the way fast enough.” The memories of that awful night danced in Peter’s mind, “I might have been okay losing my pack, or losing my mate, but both…” 

Both, Chris knew, and you get the monster that Peter had turned into all those years ago. Not sure there even were words to comfort someone who had been through what Peter had been through, at the hands of people Chris once considered family, Chris didn’t say anything back, not for a long time. He just held Peter close and pressed soft kisses against his temple. When he was sure the wolf had fallen asleep, he whispered, “Stiles won’t leave Derek hurting. And you’re not alone anymore, Peter.”

Peter was, of course, not asleep, but he waited for the Hunter’s heartrate to even out, his breathing to deepen before he whispered, “Neither are you, Christopher.”

\--

Generally speaking, Stiles’ tenure as an alpha had largely been successful. He took his territory without bloodshed, he’d found a pack without having to kill anyone. He’d even brought in someone he would have formerly considered an enemy just out of the goodness of his heart. He had a safe, warded territory, a good rapport with local law enforcement, and his pack gave back to the community; Jordan was still a Deputy, Derek and Cora were EMT’s, Isaac was a nurse, Jackson was Beacon Hills’ newest assistant district attorney, Theo was a journalist with the Daily Beacon, and Malia was a beloved assistant teacher at the Beacon County Early Childhood Center. He’d done well for himself and his pack.

But today, today he’d failed. 

Today, one of his demons had snuck back into his life, and someone he cared about – someone he loved – got caught in the crossfire. 

They would recover from this, Stiles hoped. He stood in the doorway to their bedroom, watching Derek and Jackson sleep, arms crossed over his chest, lip between his teeth. Both of them were, of course, almost completely healed from their injuries. Jackson had a nasty bruise on his ribs that hadn’t quite healed from where he’d tried to tear Oleander off of Derek and the alpha had thrown him across the room before his betas could subdue him again. Derek’s neck was healed up, nothing more than a small white scar in the shape of fangs that Stiles hated to look at.

They weren’t his fangs.

Once again, Derek had been used as a pawn in someone else’ game, and it made Stiles seethe with anger that he couldn’t have done more to stop it. The mage who had snapped his wards was dead. Paul Oleander was in multiple pieces and probably somewhere near the bottom of Lake Michigan. The other betas that had died were probably similarly disposed of, and the three that had survived his rampage would serve as a warning; touch the Stilinski pack and you’d pay. 

Standing in that room, clutching Jackson and Derek to him, Stiles should have felt proud of his actions, he should have felt happy to have them safely in his grasp, but he just felt like a failure. He’d been too lax, left them alone even with a hanging threat. 

“Stiles.” The alpha looked up at where Jackson’s eyes were opened and trained on him. “Come to bed, Alpha.” 

Stiles sighed but made his way to the bed. Derek’s eyes cracked open and he and Jackson made room between the two of them for Stiles to settle into. Derek curled in immediately, pressing his face into Stiles’ neck, while Jackson presed a kiss to Stiles’ temple and wrapped an arm around his stomach. “I’m sorry.” Stiles whispered into Derek’s hair, “I’m sorry I didn’t get there fast enough. I should never have lef—”

“Stiles, you’d be dead.” Jackson said, his tone flat, his heart steady. “If you’d been in that room with us, the wolfsbane would have knocked you on your ass the same way it did Derek and I, and then Oleander could have killed you. Would have, probably.”

“I’m okay, Stiles.” Derek said softly, his lips close enough that Stiles could feel them move against his neck, “I’m…I feel odd. Empty? Achy? But I’m not sad that he’s dead. I’m not mad that you killed him, even if he was my mate for all of five minutes.” 

Stiles nodded. He shifted down so that his face was level with Derek’s, “I have a promise to keep.” He whispered. “If it’s still what you want.” 

Derek nodded, “Please.” His head tilted back, and Stiles couldn’t help the snarl that escaped him at the pink scar. “Get rid of it, Stiles.” Derek murmured. “Make me _yours_ , Alpha.” 

Stiles nosed against Derek’s neck for a moment, pressing kisses to the column of his throat, and then running his tongue over the tender skin of the bite scar. Derek shuddered, and Stiles let his fangs drop, grazing against the skin for a moment before lining up his bite, and sinking down through the scar tissue. Derek let out a low whine but didn’t move and Stiles was vaguely aware of Jackson’s hand running through Derek’s hair. 

A moment later, Stiles retracted his fangs and licked against the new, open wound, the previous scar slipping away. “ _Mine._ ” He whispered, and Derek hmm’d his contentment. There was something more where the pack bond had once been, and Stiles could feel that beside the fear and frustration of the day, there was something glowing and warm in Derek’s chest from being claimed by the right alpha. Stiles kissed Derek’s lips softly and turned his head towards Jackson. “I promised both of you.”

Jackson gave a small smile that didn’t make it to his eyes, “You don’t have to, Stiles.” He said, “I don’t want to make Derek uncomforta—”

“Stop.” Derek said, pushing himself up so he was propped on one arm. His free arm reached across the bed and cupped gently at Jackson’s face, “I want this.” He said, running his thumb across Jackon’s lips, “Both of you.” He said softly. 

Jackson’s lips curled into a smile under Derek’s touch. He pressed a kiss into the pad of Derek’s thumb. “I want this too.”

“I want you too, Jax. I don’t…I need both of you.” The words were on the tip of Stiles’ tongue, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say them, not yet. “Do you want to be my mate or not?” 

Jackson glanced back at Derek and then nodded, leaning back against the pillows and tilting his head up, “I’m going to have to raid Isaac’s scarf collection.” He grumbled.

“I’ll buy you your own scarf collection.” Stiles murmured against Jackson’s throat before his fangs sank in.

A moment later, when he pulled away, and then laid back against the bed with both of them close, Derek curled into one side and Jackson stretched out along the other, Stiles realized that he didn’t need to use the words. Not yet, at least.

But he wouldn’t be afraid when he did tell them he loved them, because that warm feeling he felt singing down both mate bonds towards him? That was love. 

There were monsters in the night that would come for him, no matter how powerful he was, how well he could fight. There were always going to be evil people who tried to take what Stiles had rightfully earned as his own. But for this moment, tucked in between the men he loved, in a warded house inside his warded territory, for just a moment, everything felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One or two chapters left!
> 
> (there was a 5th chapter posted, it got taken down, I decided I wanted to rewrite it/clarify!)


	5. brother let me be your shelter pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles waited for Scott to disappear inside the cabin before he rested his forehead against the steering wheel and exhaled a long, low breath, tears burning in his eyes. This was the part of being an alpha that nobody advertised. The part where you had to seriously consider if it was time to kill your childhood best friend. The part where you watched as your childhood best friend went down a path that was so out of character that it _hurt._

Things did not, in the time after returning from the werewolf conference, calm down in the slightest. Stiles became increasingly glad as things went on that he had chosen not to find a source of actual employment. People who paid him to kill things were generally flexible about exactly what timeline he killed the things on, which left him plenty of time to deal with the increasingly odd happenings in Beacon Hills. 

Two conversations, in particular, had stuck out to him recently. One with Theo, of all people, who was reporting that hunters had been repeatedly coming across dead animals in the preserve. He was doing a story on it for the Daily Beacon. Some of them had included pictures, suddenly worried that there was once again a rising mountain lion population in the Beacon Hills Preserve. 

The kills were definitely not the work of mountain lions. 

Stiles had sent Malia out, one evening, to have a look around, and she came back with a horrified, if confused expression. She’d leaned in close to him and breathed, “It smells like Scott.” 

Stiles’ heart began a months-long journey into his stomach. Once, once was a incident.

Twice, though, twice was a coincidence, and Derek coming home to talk about transporting a knocked-out Mason to the ER put Stiles on edge. Derek had said the only scents that he could pick up were the usual Mason-and-Corey, and then Scott’s scent. He’d had to leave before Mason regained consciousness. Scott would never, not in a million years, intentionally harm his pack. There had to be a reason for it, there had to be an explanation that wasn’t Scott being the cause of that injury.

A quiet conversation with Corey a few days later sent chills down Stiles’ spine. It had been Scott who, if accidentally, sent Mason to the hospital. Corey had made Stiles swear not to tell anyone, not to get their alpha in trouble. Stiles agreed.

Three times was a pattern. A pattern of odd behavior that Stiles had seen forming from that first day in Beacon Hills, where Scott was so…off. He wasn’t acting like himself. Melissa had complained that he’d been struggling with something. As far as Stiles knew, he hadn’t reached out to anyone; not his mother, not Chris, not him. Scott had continued down the path, and Stiles had been preoccupied with his job and the conference and his mates that he hadn’t seen it. He’d missed Scott’s quiet, lonely slide into becoming his own kind of monster.

Until the third event.

But by the time that happened, it was already far too late for Stiles to stop. 

\--

The night Stiles was sure the most recent threat to Beacon Hills was actually Scott McCall, he’d woken to his phone ringing in the dead of night. He had to extract himself from Derek and Jackson’s admittedly clingy grasp, to reach for it, hand closing around it just as the call joined the three other ‘missed’ calls, and the three texts on his screen. Unlocking the phone, Stiles felt dread sinking in his stomach as he scanned the texts. Before he could even consciously process the information, he’s out of bed. “DEREK.” He called, heading for his dresser.

The beta rolled over and blinked up at Stiles, “What--?” Seeing the tense lines of his alpha snapped Derek into awareness, sitting up immediately, Jackson staring at both of them with sleepily annoyed blue eyes.

“Get dressed, get Peter, Cora and Isaac. We’re leaving in five minutes. Grab the medical bags.”

_  
1 Missed Call, Melissa McCall, 11:59PM  
From: Melissa McCall, 12:01AM  
Something is wrong with Scott. He’s at my house. Can you come over?_

Stiles was silent and that made the pack more nervous than any stream-of-consciousness thoughts ever could. He was focused, but all of the wolves could smell the anger and fear rolling off of him in waves. He dressed methodically, in black like he’s going on a hunt, and then moved to the kitchen, pulling out a soft-sided cooler and filling it with water bottles and leftovers, entire pouches of lunch meat and cans of soda. 

He dug out Chris’ truck keys, Peter eyeing him warily as Stiles searched through the keys and extracted one key from the ring, “Let Chris know I’m borrowing the Argent cabin.” It wasn’t really a request. “Let’s go, I’ll drive separately.” He tossed the keys back into the basket, grabbed his own and stalked out of the house into the crisp darkness. 

“Where are we going, Stiles?” Peter asked, warily.

Stiles froze and dragged in a long breath, “Melissa McCall’s house.”

_  
1 missed call, 1:28AM, Liam Dunbar  
From: Liam Dunbar, 1:30AM  
Stiles, we really need another alpha. I don’t know what’s going on with Scott. He’s scaring us._

The drive to the McCall house felt a lot like the drive from Sacramento to Beacon Hills felt six-and-a-half years ago, only Stiles was hopeful that the ending of this one won’t be so grim. His phone rang again, this time it’s Mason, and this time he answers it. “I’m on my way. How bad is it?” 

“It was bad. She’s bleeding a lot. I’ve got him contained. Nolan is trying to contain the bleeding the best he can. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Stiles, he just… she tried to get him to settle down, told him you would be coming to help soon and he attacked her. Are you gonna…are you going to kill him?”

Stiles stared at the road, pressing harder on the accelerator, “Only if I have to.” He said, “I’m on my way, I’ve got backup for Nolan coming with me, keep him contained. Give the phone to Melissa.” His hands gripped the steering wheel of the jeep so tightly he thinks there will be permanent indents.

“S-Stiles.” She sounds weak, and it breaks Stiles’ heart. “Stiles, he didn’t mean it. He’s not, he’s not in his right mind. He’s just…” Stiles could hear the pained breathing through the phone, “Please don’t kill my baby.”

“Melissa, do you want us to get you to the hospital, or do you want the bite?” Stiles is proud of himself for getting that out without sobbing. “It’s your choice. Derek, Cora and Isaac are coming, they can help you if you decide you want to get to the hospital, but, Mel, if you go to the hospital, you know there are going to be questions asked.”

There is a long silence on the other end of the line. “I don’t think it’s safe to let him bite me.” She finally whispered into the line. 

It’s not a definitive answer, but it’s enough. Stiles swallowed, “I didn’t say anything about him biting you.” He hung up as he pulled up to the curb and threw the jeep into park.

_  
1 Missed Call, Liam Dunbar, 1:43AM  
From: Liam Dunbar, 1:43AM  
Scott attacked Melissa, Stiles, please help. Nolan’s doing his best.  
1 Missed Call, Mason Hewitt, 1:44AM_

Liam opened the door as Stiles reached it, walking into the McCall to the furious roar of Scott, who was trapped in a small circle of mountain ash in the living room. Stiles ignored him, heading for the kitchen where Melissa was surrounded by Scott’s pack. “Mel.” Stiles said, taking the spot Lori Talbot made for him at Melissa’s shoulder. “I’m here.” 

She looked up at him, pale as a ghost. “He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it, Stiles.”

Stiles grabbed her hand, brings it to his lips and kisses it, drawing her pain away, “I know.” The McCall pack had scattered at the sight of Stiles’ betas, making room so that Derek, Cora and Isaac could help Nolan, whose whose hands were already slick with Melissa’s blood. Stiles waited until Isaac looked up, eyes heartbroken, a gently shake of his head giving Stiles all the information he needed. 

Stiles flipped Melissa’s hand over, “Melissa, it has to be now.” He said softly, brushing her hair away from her face with his other hand. 

“I trust you.” She said, giving him a weak smile. “Just…he didn’t mean it, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded and brought her wrist to his lips, biting down as gently as he could. Once the bite was in, he stepped back, leaving the medically trained to pack her wounds and keep her from bleeding out until the bite took. Stiles leaned heavily against the kitchen Island, staring at Melissa’s tired form. He could hear Scott’s angry roaring descend into mournful howls from the other room. 

Between the four of them, they got the bleeding to stop, though Stiles was sure that more of Melissa’s blood was on the kitchen floor than in her body. She looked impossibly pale against the kitchen tiles and the pool of her own blood, but none of them wanted to move her. Seconds ticked into minutes, and Stiles kept his ear trained on Melissa’s heartbeat. It was slow, impossibly slow. 

He felt the pack bond before they actually saw the wound on Melissa’s wrist begin to close and Stiles nearly collapsed in relief, all the wolves in the room clapping others on the shoulder and thanking the others for their help. Scott had gone silent in the living room, though whether that was exhaustion from repeatedly trying to break a mountain ash barrier, or actual lucidity, Stiles couldn’t be sure. 

“She’s going to sleep for a while.” Stiles said, standing up. “Peter.” He turned to the beta. “You’re her trainer. Nolan, Isaac, cover for her with the hospital. Derek, Cora, if Peter needs backup for anything, you help him.”

“Where are you going?” Derek asked.

Stiles’ smile was grim. “I have to deal with Scott.” He stepped away. “As soon as that wound starts closing, take her back to our house. Someone clean her damn kitchen for her.” He turned on his heel and only made it a few steps before there was a warm hand on his arm. He turned slowly, resisting the urge to snarl. Derek’s concerned face stared back.

“Stiles…” Derek said, eyes pained, “We can call the council. Or a hunter. It doesn’t need to be you.” 

Stiles gave a half-smile. “He’s an alpha in my territory. I was aware of his deteriorating mental health and I did nothing to stop it. He attacked the animals in the preserve, a member of his own pack, and now his mother.” He leaned forward to kiss Derek’s forehead. “It has to be me.” Stiles pulled his arm free and walked into the living room. Scott was facing away from everyone in the center of the circle, curled into a tiny ball, completely silent. “Break the line, Mason.”

Mason looks up at Stiles dubiously, and Kira, who had followed from the kitchen stepped between Stiles and Scott to ask, “What are you going to do with him?”

Stiles sighed and shook his head, “We’re going out of town.” He said.

Kira’s mouth turned into a firm frown, “I can’t let you take him if you’re going to kill him, Stiles.” 

Stiles closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s the monster in the preserve, he attacked Mason, and then attacked his mother, He’s dang–”

“It’s fine, Kira. Do what he says, Mason.” Scott’s voice shocked both of them into silence. “He’s right.” 

Kira choked on a sob, turning towards Scott with tear-filled eyes and Mason’s mouth dropped open, “Scott he’s going to –”

“Mason.” Scott turned around, his brown eyes red-rimmed and face impossibly sad, “Do what he says, please.” 

Mason shook his head and kicked angrily at the ash line, breaking the circle. Kira launched herself into Scott’s arms, and the alpha caught her gently, kissed her cheek and then stepped away. Stiles nodded at him and grabbed Scott him the back of the neck to lead him out of the house and towards the jeep. 

“Can I say goodbye?” Scott asked, impossibly quiet. “To my mom at least?”

“She’s asleep. If I decide I’m actually killing you, I’ll make sure you get to.” Stiles said, opening the passenger door to the jeep. He hesitated for a minute before he closed the door, his eyes moving from the ground to Scott’s face. “If Melissa had died, I’d have killed you in the living room, I hope you know that.” 

Scott waited for Stiles to climb into the drivers seat before he turned his face towards his once-best friend. “If I’d killed my mom, I’d have let you.” 

\--

Stiles drove north for three hours before he turned off down a gravel access path and pulled up to a small log cabin nestled deep inside the thick northern California forests. It was just this side of sunrise, and Stiles was exhausted, both from the events of the night and the tense, silent three-hour car ride. “Go inside and take a shower.” Stiles said, shaking Scott awake, holding out a key to him. “I need to make some calls.”

Scott turned to look at Stiles for a long time, “I’m surprised you haven’t killed me already.” 

Stiles’ hand clenched around his phone, “I’m not a monster, Scott.” He turned to face the other alpha, “And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to make myself stop caring about you. Almost twenty years of friendship will do that to you.”

Scott looked away, and nodded, “Thanks, I guess. I’ll see you inside then?”

“Yeah.” Stiles said, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Stiles waited for Scott to disappear inside the cabin before he rested his forehead against the steering wheel and exhaled a long, low breath, tears burning in his eyes. This was the part of being an alpha that nobody advertised. The part where you had to seriously consider if it was time to kill your childhood best friend. The part where you watched as your childhood best friend went down a path that was so out of character that it _hurt._

Stiles couldn’t extract his own guilt from the situation; he’d come in, taken half of Scott’s pack, probably the half that would have realized that Scott was losing himself to the Nemeton’s darkness. Then, he’d watched from a distance as Scott slept less and less, got angrier and angrier. Then he’d started attacking animals, and then his own pack, and finally, his own family. Stiles had failed, as a territory alpha, to see the rising threat in his own territory. He’d failed as someone who had once called Scott a friend to see how broken he’d become. And Melissa had nearly died as a result of it. 

Scott, once upon a time, hadn’t been dangerous. He hadn’t been terrified, unable to sleep, losing himself to a darkness that had lived inside him since he was 16 years old. He hadn’t made rash choices like sending a Sheriff out on a werewolf hunt without backup. As much as Stiles had blamed Scott, a part of him now couldn’t shake that maybe the problem had begun a long time ago. Allison had died, severing her connection to the tree. After facing something as impossibly dark as the Nogitsune, Stiles was hardly phased by the Nemeton’s shadow. But Scott, golden-hearted, do-good Scott wasn’t equipped to bear this kind of burden.

And Stiles, lost in grief and his own self-pity, had left him to bear it alone. 

Stiles scrolled through his contacts and stared at the number he’d saved but never used. Alan Deaton was dead by Stiles’ own hand over five years ago, one of his first kills after becoming a werewolf. There were few people who might know as much about the Beacon Hills Nemeton as he had, few people who might know if it was possible to bring someone back. 

He dialed. 

“Morell.” 

“Marin, its Stiles…”


	6. brother let me be your shelter pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room was silent for a long time after that, until Scott tilted his head back towards Stiles, tears streaming down his face. “I should have asked for help.” The words came out soft, choked, “But I was afraid you would say no. I didn’t deserve the help. And then my mom almost died.” 
> 
> Stiles met Scott’s eyes, “I’m here now. Offering, with open arms.”
> 
> Scott hitched another shaky breath, “Help me, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more wrap up chapter (Sterackson smut?) to go and then I think I'll bid adieu to this verse. Thanks for joining me on the ride!

It had taken two phone calls, in the end. The first, to Marin, after a half-assed apology for killing her brother, had revealed that the darkness that Scott was dealing with was very likely the Nemeton pulling power. It required power to stay active, to continue being a Beacon. The connections, to Stiles, Scott, and Allison, had been cemented with their temporary deaths, and so, the only way to remove the connection was through another death. Or a sacrifice. Freedom from a sacrifice warranted another sacrifice. A sacrifice of something as powerful as the link itself. 

Stiles wasn’t stupid, or self-sacrificing enough (anymore) to consider taking on more than he already carried. That amount alone had threatened, more than once, to shake him apart. Between the Nemeton and the Nogitsune and three months in an abandoned train station and his father’s death, Stiles had enough darkness by age twenty to warrant a mental break, but he’d never fallen victim to it. He’d learned to shape the darkness, use it as a shield and as a weapon, he’d woven it into the core of who he was. More darkness threatened to break his tenuous hold on it. 

The second phone call was to Melanie, the emissary from Chicago. Something about their conversation had stuck out to Stiles. There had been an option, for her emissary-gone-mad brother, to drain his power, to take the power instead of taking his life. Stiles was thankful for the time difference. Melanie didn’t know if the spell could be used on werewolves, if the concept would work, but she sent Stiles scans of pages from her family’s Grimoire anyway. 

When Stiles had become a werewolf, the wolf had shared the burden of darkness with him. Scott had never merged with his wolf the way Stiles had, accepting it into every piece of his life. Scott had, with time, accepted being a werewolf, but he’d never understood all the nuances that came with being a wolf, taking care of a pack, guarding a territory. Scott’s connection with his wolf was tenuous at best, and it was possible that the ongoing strain combined with the pull of the Nemeton had lead to the snap.

With a long exhale, Stiles leaned over, opening the glove compartment, digging through the random junk until his hand landed on a familiar piece of molded plastic. The inhaler was years expired, but something in Stiles had told him to keep it, through all the bullshit they’d been through, through all his gut-deep anger at Scott, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to throw away the quiet reminder that once, Scott had been human. Once, he’d had flaws and faults and he was _human_. Once, he’d been Stiles’ brother. 

Maybe he could be again. 

He tucked the inhaler back into the glove compartment, grabbed the bookbag he kept in the jeep for last-minute jobs, and headed inside. Scott, freshly showered, was sitting on the couch with his hands between his knees and his head bowed. Stiles stopped in the doorway. “It’s within my rights as territory alpha to kill you.” Stiles said softly, taking a seat in an armchair. “The council would back me, hunters guilds would back me.”

Scott turned to Stiles and gave a tiny shrug. He looked broken, sad, and so fucking scared. 

“Your mother, however, begged me, Scott. The kitchen floor was _covered_ in her blood, and do you know what she kept saying to me?” Stiles licked his lips, “She begged me not to kill you.” 

“So what are you going to do?” Scott asked, attempting and failing to mask the grief and anguish on his face with the challenge in his tone.

Stiles sat back and shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

Scott cocked an eyebrow, “You don’t know? That whole speech about killing me, but you don’t know what you’re going to do?”

Stiles stared at the wall across from him, ignoring Scott to his left. He dragged in a breath, catching his tongue between his teeth for a moment before speaking, “When I became a werewolf, do you know what I wanted? More than anything?” 

“Vengeance?” Scott asked, shrugging one shoulder. 

“I wanted to come home, Scott.” Stiles turned his gaze to his best friend, “I wanted to come home and be with my friends, in _my_ pack.” Stiles hastily wiped away a tear from his eye, “But I didn’t for two reasons. One of them was my own choice; I was still so mad at you for my dad dying, I couldn’t even imagine being around you back then. The other one? That was all you, Scott.” 

Scott didn’t say anything, but his brows drew together and his head cocked to the side. 

“I couldn’t trust you anymore. Not to keep me safe, to keep a pack safe, not after my dad. Not after how many times your hatred of killing nearly got your pack killed. And then it did kill my dad. Your negligence as a leader killed my father, Scott.” Stiles’ hands were clenched into tight fists, “You didn’t even try to save him, did you? You could have bitten him, but you didn’t.”

Scott exhaled harshly and turned away. His mouth opened a few times, as if to say something, and finally, he landed on, “No.” A tear slipped down his face, “And I’ve asked myself why I didn’t every day since.” He turned to Stiles, “I’m sorry.” 

Stiles’ eyebrows jumped up his face, more at the steady beat of Scott’s heart, than the content of what was being said. “That’s why I don’t want to kill you.” He said softly, “Because monsters, they don’t show remorse. They don’t regret their actions. They kill indiscriminately and they do it because they like it. You’re not a monster, Scott. I think you’re just in over your head.” 

The room was silent for a long time after that, until Scott tilted his head back towards Stiles, tears streaming down his face. “I should have asked for help.” The words came out soft, choked, “But I was afraid you would say no. I didn’t deserve the help. And then my mom almost died.” 

Stiles met Scott’s eyes, “I’m here now. Offering, with open arms.”

Scott hitched another shaky breath, “Help me, please.” 

\--

They spent two days at the cabin making plans to free Scott from the influences of the Nemeton and atone for what he’d done to Mason and his mother. The spells in the Grimoire are specifically designed to drain out a magic user’s magical potential, but the wording is very vague. The convenient recurring theme is that the energy has to go somewhere, into a vessel of some kind, and Stiles is hopeful that a magical tree might be the perfect kind of vessel. 

What was increasingly unclear was exactly how much of Scott’s magical potential – his werewolf nature – the tree would take. Without the connection to the tree, Scott would hopefully revert back to his usual self; no longer a danger to his pack or the world at large. Severing that link was going to come at a cost; either his alpha spark alone, or the werewolf inside him all together. There was no way to know which would be case. 

Stiles had been practicing with various flowers he’d picked from the woods outside, imbuing them with power, and then draining them to the next flower. “You could end up human, y’know.” 

Scott was standing at the kitchen counter, assembling sandwiches with the supplies Stiles had packed and some they’d picked up the day before on a quick run to the nearest town. “If my choices are be human, or die, I think the option is pretty clear.” 

“I could bite you again.” Stiles mused, tossing dead flowers into the trash. “If that’s what you want.” 

Nothing had been fixed between them in 48 hours, but the ability to sit and talk, actually talk, away from packs and responsibilities had opened the door to the potential of their friendship reigniting. Scott had remained remarkably lucid away from the Nemeton, but even when he had begun to slip, he wasn’t really a threat to Stiles. 

Scott set a sandwich on the table for Stiles, “Let’s just see how it goes? If it doesn’t work….”

Stiles, who had picked up the sandwich, set it back down, “If it doesn’t work, I think you should leave Beacon Hills.” 

Scott stilled, sandwich suspended in midair, “Leave. Not die?” 

“You’ve been mostly fine here. You’ve had what, one episode in 48 hours? And we’re only 3 hours away. If we can’t break the link to the Nemeton, you leave. Get away, as far as you can. Mason doesn’t blame you, Melissa hasn’t stopped asking about you. Nobody died.”

Scott chews thoughtfully. “Okay.” He said, after swallowing, “Okay, if it doesn’t work, I’ll leave.” 

“And if it does work, uh, too well?” Stiles asked.

“Then I take my punishment and live my life.” Scott said, shrugging, “Again, human vs dead, I’ll take human.” 

\-- 

Stiles would have liked to stay away longer, but tonight was the full moon, which means that the best (and worst) time to do this ceremony is tonight. Stiles needed to stay completely human in order to work magic and doing so at the zenith of the full moon felt a lot like setting himself up for trouble. Stiles had practiced keeping his wolf away for years, he had to hope that practice would pay off tonight. The sacrifice of Scott’s wolf to the Nemeton would be the strongest on the full moon, so tonight it was. 

They don’t tell the packs exactly what to expect, only that everyone should meet in the preserve when the moon was near its highest point, and then follow Stiles’ scent to the Nemeton. The tree is still elusive, but Stiles is able to follow the tendrils of power to find it’s stump. 

When the packs arrived, Melissa clapped firmly between Peter and Derek, there was a mountain ash circle around the Nemeton, and Stiles is standing inside of it. Scott, shirtless and shifted, is sitting cross-legged on the stump of the tree, his eyes a red counterpoint to Stiles’ carefully maintained human appearance. “As primary territory alpha, it is my duty to maintain order in my territory, to protect my pack and all others who reside within my borders. I failed that duty.” 

Stiles looked pointedly at Melissa, who gave a sad smile. “Traditionally, the punishment for an alpha who lost control would be death, especially given the grievous injuries he caused to his pack and family. However, This is not a traditional situation by any stretch of the imagination, so…” Stiles turned towards Scott who nodded. 

Stiles climbed onto the Nemeton and knelt behind Scott, one hand pressed into Scott’s shoulder, the other pressed flat against the Nemeton. Stiles began chanting in an ancient language, carefully, completely human, despite the pull of the moon to be anything but. Scott’s eyes drooped, red flickering, fading to yellow, and then to brown. He collapsed shortly after, his heartbeats coming slowly to a stop. Stiles held tightly to his shoulder, waiting for the sacrifice to be accepted. 

Melissa howled, overwhelmed between both the pull of her first full moon and watching Scott’s apparent death. Derek and Peter dug their heels in to hold her back, tears streaming from her eyes.Kira fell to her knees, a hand pressed over her heart. Several of the McCall wolves threw themselves at the mountain ash, only to be repelled. Stiles held out a hand to Mason, flicking him backwards with a burst of power as he moved to break the line. “Wait.” Stiles couldn’t talk right now, focusing too hard on believing, on keeping himself human, keeping his spark active. If he slips now, if he starts to shift, Scott could die for real.

The moon hit its highest point and Stiles’ forehead dropped to Scott’s chest, his breathing heavy, holding back every part of his shift with every ounce of energy he has until he heard Scott drag in a breath beneath him. Stiles released him then, sitting back on his heels, letting the wolf loose enough that his eyes bleed red and his fangs descend. A smile spread across his face as Scott sat up, turning to look at Stiles. “I’m…”

Stiles nodded, “Human.” He said, “Is the connection gone? The darkness?”

Scott focused for a minute, “Yeah. Yeah, I think it is.” He tentatively leaned forward, pulling Stiles into an embrace that he readily returned. “Thank you, Stiles.” 

Stiles nodded, breathing easier now than he had in years, “Go break the ash line so you can see your pack.” 

Scott frowned, “I don’t have a pack anymore.” 

Stiles shook his head, reaching out to run a hand along Scott’s neck, feeling the beginning of a tentative pack bond. “You can be pack even though you’re human, Scott. All you lost was the wolf, and the darkness.” 

Scott nodded and climbed to his feet, dragging a foot through the ash line as he dove towards his pack, and even some members of Stiles’ pack who were still piecing together what had happened. 

“Be gentle guys.” Stiles said with a wave of his hand, stretching out his legs in front of him, leaning back on his hands to observe. “He’s human now.”


	7. I sometimes still can’t believe this is real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If Stiles wasn’t careful, before he knew it, he wouldn’t be any kind of monster anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I got all but the last S/J/D scene written and I kept losing my muse. Here it is in all its finished glory!

The basement of the new Hale house is a room that serves multiple purposes. There are strong concrete-and-steel beams at various intervals, perfect for locking down a new wolf during a full moon. There’s a strong fire-door rated to resist even the highest temperatures, and a small supply of non-perishable foods, some first aid kits and a spigot for water, safeguard against the nightmares Cora, Derek, and Peter still dealt with. Mostly, there was plenty of empty floor space, and at some point, after the second full moon when Stiles, Derek, and Jackson woke up to damn near the entire pack in their bed, they’d bought several mattresses and lined the floor of half of the basement with mattresses and blankets and pillows.

So, the morning after the full moon, Stiles wakes, bracketed possessively between Derek and Jackson, amidst his newly doubled pack. Lydia and Jordan are missing, and Stiles can smell Peter but can’t see him, fairly certain he’d snuck upstairs for some alone time with Chris. Scott’s curled in a ball on the far end of the room from Stiles, and he can see Melissa next to her son, sitting up, stroking hair back away from her face. She looked up to nod at Stiles, a small smile on her face. Stiles didn’t need words to interpret that look; Scott was alive, and she was alive. Thankful probably wouldn’t begin to cover it. 

Most of Scott’s pack, save for Mason and Corey, had chosen to stay as well, and they’re clumped together in a puppy pile with Liam at its heart. Jackson, naturally, is perched atop Stiles like a lizard on a rock in the sun, and Derek is curled up beside them. Malia is pressed against Stiles’ other side, Theo at her back, an arm curled protectively around her. Something about her scent has been off for a few weeks now, and last night, even when Derek and Stiles had fully shifted, Malia had stayed mostly-human, claiming she didn’t feel up to a full shift.

Malia always felt up to a full shift.

Stiles pushed the thought away in favor of turning his head to take in Cora, curled around her brother’s back, trapped between him and Isaac. His shifting must have woken Jackson, who buried his face closer to Stiles’ throat, grumbling about being tired and his bed not being particularly comfortable, which drew a snort out of Stiles that woke Derek, who looked at both of them with a fond smile. Stiles wriggled one of his arms free to card a hand through Derek’s hair and then Jacksons, breathing in the scent of pack, his mates, a family he’d found all his own. 

Stiles drifted off for a while longer, but eventually, the door to the basement was deliberately opened and the smell of a cooking breakfast roused most of the wolves from sleep. Stiles lingered, noticing that Scott and Melissa were still sitting quietly. He waited for the basement to be empty save for the McCall’s and then stepped closer to them. “How do you feel, Melissa?” 

Melissa looked up at him, “Exhausted, but also, better than I’ve felt in years.” She gave him a genuine smile, “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for saving my life.”

Stiles waved a hand, “All I did was bite you. Thank the medical knowledge squad upstairs. They kept your blood in you long enough for the change to take.” He turned to Scott, “How’s humanity?” 

Scott gave a small smile, “Better than death.” He said, “I guess I have to get uh, asthma meds again.” 

Stiles’ mind flashed to the long-expired inhaler in his glove compartment, to the memories of running through the preserve on a dark night, and then returning to look for a lost inhaler. “No more first line Lacrosse for you.” He finally said. “Don’t be a stranger. You’re still pack.”

Scott stared at his feet, arms wrapped around himself, looking smaller than Stiles had seen him look in years, “I’m sorry, Stiles.” He said finally, “I’m sorry for everything.” Melissa’s hand landed on her son’s back, rubbing gently. “And I don’t know how to thank you for all of this; helping my pack, finding a way to help me…It’s – ”

“It’s what brothers do.” Stiles said, reaching out to grip Scott’s shoulder firmly, “Don’t mention it.” 

\--

Stiles was home, having just returned from a job, when Malia found him, her face pulled together in something between confusion and concern. She curled up next to him on the couch he’d been sitting on, tucking her head against his shoulder. At first, Stiles hadn’t thought much of it, until the fact that it was the middle of the morning on a Tuesday and Malia should have been at work. “You okay?” He asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Stiles, I think I’m pregnant.” Malia said, her face still pressed into his shoulder.

Stiles blinked a few times, exhaling long and loud through his nose. “So like, did you take a test and you’re just not ready to accept the result, or is this you asking me to get you a pregnancy test?” 

Malia shrugged, “I took a test, but I think I knew before the test.” She said, pulling back, “I literally always want to full shift and the last full moon, it felt like I couldn’t?” She cocked her head to the side, “I don’t know what to do.”

Stiles stared down at his hands, because frankly, _neither did he ._ “It’s your body, Malia. You’re really the only one who gets a say here. You could talk to uh, whoever is the other genetic contributor, but at the end of the day, it’s your body.” Stiles made a small noise, “And your power, ultimately.” 

Malia nodded, tipping her head to the side to rest along the top of the couch, “It’s Theo’s.” She said, chewing on her bottom lip. “Which doesn’t really make this easier.”

Stiles snorted, “Malia, if you keep the kid, everyone’s going to pitch in. Even if it’s biologically Theo’s, and he decides to bail on you, you’ve got the rest of us. Or well, you will have after we all take turns breaking every bone in Theo’s body.” 

Malia giggled. “You wouldn’t be mad if I kept it?” 

Stiles shook his head, a smile sliding onto his lips. “I’m an alpha, Malia. It’s like, a biological imperative for me to grow my pack. You being pregnant is just that happening _natures intended way._ ” Stiles winked. 

Malia slapped his shoulder playfully, “Do you think Dad is going to be mad?”

Stiles sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees, cradling his chin in his hands, “Are you asking me if your father, Peter Hale, one of the last 4 Hale-bloodline werewolves in existence, is going to be mad that his _biological daughter_ is pregnant?” Stiles turned to look up at Malia, “No, Mal, I don’t think he’s going to be mad. I think he’s going to be annoying, obnoxious and overbearing, but not mad.” 

Malia pushed Stiles back up against the couch and tucked herself into his lap, kissing his cheek. “Thanks.” She said softly. 

Stiles brought his hand to her abdomen, hesitated a moment for Malia to grant him permission, and then pressed his hand against the place where, in the coming months, her belly would expand. “This baby is going to be the best-protected baby in the entire world.” He said softly.

They were still sat like that a few hours later, watching some kind of documentary on animal migration in Africa when the door opened, Derek walking through with a yawn, leaning down to drop a kiss onto Malia’s head and to Stiles’ lips. 

Malia waited until Derek was several steps up on the stairs to call out, “By the way, I’m pregnant.” 

Derek missed a stair and had to grab at the rail, “Excuse me?” His face was a mask of shock, mouth dropped open. “Did I hear you say you’re pregnant?” 

Malia and Stiles turned to him with twin delighted grins. Malia nodded, blush rising on her cheeks. 

\--

Malia seemed to get great joy out of the shock that her announcing her pregnancy got out of people, and over the next few days found the most inconvenient times to inform people that their pack was expanding. Lydia was the only one who didn’t seem surprised by the revelation, but there were a series of snorted drinks, missed stairs and dropped kitchen appliances in the following days.

Stiles agreed to go with Malia to discuss the topic with Theo, who still lived in his own apartment across town instead of the pack house. Malia knocked on his door, Stiles carefully out of sight, and Theo opened the door to greet her with a warm grin and a kiss. “Hey, you didn’t tell me you were coming over.” 

“Didn’t know we had to.” Stiles said, swinging in the door before Theo could close it. Theo rolled his eyes but patted Stiles on the shoulder. “We have news.” 

Theo cocked an eyebrow. “News that requires two of you. Okay, shoot.”

Malia looked at Stiles for a long moment before she turned back to Theo, “I’m pregnant, Theo. It’s yours.” 

Theo had the benefit of being stationary and not having anything in either his mouth or hands, but he still took the news hard. Stiles watched as a flurry of emotions passed over his face before he got his expressions under control, his throat working around a swallow, hands clenching and unclenching as he studied Malia and Stiles’ body language and expressions. After almost a minute, his face relaxed into resignation and he nodded, “The conference.” He said, his lips pressed together.

Malia nodded, “I wasn’t sure until this week, but…” She shrugged, “You don’t have to be involved, but I’m keeping it. Stiles said he and the pack would help me raise it if you don’t want to.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” Theo took a few steps backwards and collapsed onto the couch, “Malia, you’re so good with kids. You’re going to be a great mom. I don’t think…” He looked away from them, “I’m pretty sure I’d be a really shitty dad. I don’t really have the best role models.” 

Malia let out a small sigh, scrunching up her face before shrugging one shoulder, “My mom literally tried to kill me, and then I killed my adopted mother. I don’t think being a parent is all about the role models you had for the position.” She turned to Stiles, “Are you going to break his bones?”

Theo’s head shot up and Stiles laughed, “I guess it’s up to you.” He said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “But, I think being nervous about being a dad is different than being an asshole. And, he’s Pack, so he knows he’s not going to be allowed to shirk all of the responsibilities that come with this.” Stiles turned to Theo, “Right?” 

Theo nodded, still wary, “Yeah, I mean, I’ll help however you want me to, Malia, I just don’t think I can be a dad.” 

Malia considered, “That’s fine, I guess.” She grinned brightly at him, “Besides, you have like six more months to figure that out anyway.” 

Theo gave Malia a small, affectionate smile. “Yeah.” He said, “I guess I do.” 

\--

Jackson laid back on the bed later that evening, dressed in only his underwear, watching Stiles fold laundry at the end of the bed. “So, Lydia and Jordan are finally getting married, Malia is pregnant with _Theo’s_ baby –”

“Sound less happy about that, I dare you, Jackson. ” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. 

“— Peter and Chris are moving into their own house, Cora and Isaac are finally willing to admit they’re dating, Scott McCall is a human, Melissa McCall is a werewolf – and might be moving in with Chris and Peter?” Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “Did I get it all? All the bullshit that’s going on in our lives lately?”

Stiles tucked a stack of his T-shirts into a drawer and moved to hang up his shirts in the closet, “Oh, Mason wants to be brought on as an emissary. I’ve never really heard of a pack with two emissaries, but I guess in terms of Scott’s old pack, he was kind of the one who had his shit together.” 

Jackson shrugged, watching eagerly as Stiles put the last of his clothes away and tugged his T-shirt over his head and tossed it towards the hamper. “Can we stop talking about them, then?” 

Stiles cocked his head to the side, kneeling on the bed, “What did you want to talk about?” 

Jackson reached out for the alpha, tugging him so that Stiles rested between his legs, their lips meeting in a brief, chaste kiss, “Who said I wanted to talk?”

The door cracked open then, and Stiles looked over his shoulder to see Derek enter the room, smirking at them both as he flicked on the soundproofing switch. “Don’t mind me.” He said.

“We never do.” Stiles said, “You gonna shower?” Jackson turned the alpha’s head back to him and kissed him before Derek could answer. 

“Unless you’d rather have sex with me while I smell like work.” Derek rolled his eyes, gaze impossibly fond as he watched the two of them. 

Jackson liked this game, the illusion of trying to keep Stiles’ impossible-to-contain attention focused entirely on him. Derek knew better; even with Stiles distracted by Jackson’s mouth and tongue, he was always on alert, ready to defend at a moments notice. 

Derek reached up to touch the mate bite on his neck, running his fingers over the ridges of Stiles’ bite before dipping into the bathroom. He showered quickly, as now that they knew he was home, they’d wait for him before they got too much further. 

When he opened the bathroom door he was greeted to a scenario reversal, with Stiles now on his back, propped against the pillows, Jackson’s knees on either side of Stiles’ chest, sucking at the alpha’s cock while Stiles fingered him. Derek’s own cock – half hard just from knowing what was going on outside the bathroom – hardened at the sight and he dropped onto the bed.

Pressing two fingers under Jackson’s jaw, he dragged the beta up for a kiss, tasting Stiles on his lips in the delicious kind of way only the two of them ever shared. “I guess we know who’s getting fucked tonight.” Derek whispered against Jackson’s lips.

“I mean, I’m usually down for a round two if I can’t just outlast both of you. Werewolf refractory periods, y’know?” Stiles said, and even though his face was blocked from view by Jackson’s body, Derek knew there was a smirk on his lips. “Jax can prep you while I fuck him.” 

Derek felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. He did know, was well versed in werewolf refractory periods. “Sure.” He glanced at Jackson, “Does that work for you?” 

Jackson raised one eyebrow over his lust-darkened eyes. “Yes, Derek. I’m good with it.” There was a distinct lack of snark in the response, and Derek appreciated it.

None of them would ever forget what happened at the werewolf convention. Derek and Jackson both had nightmares from time-to-time featuring Paul Oleander’s face, Derek’s look of panic and helplessness, and Jackson’s guilt about his forced compliance. Whatever boundaries the two might have had were wiped away that day, overwhelmed by the fact that they had all made it through that experience alive and mostly-whole. 

“Let’s do this. I’ve gotta be up early tomorrow.” Stiles announced, body slipping out from under Jackson. He settled on his knees behind the beta as he reached for the lube, slicking up his cock and looking expectantly at the pair of them.

Derek kissed Jackson another time, “How do you want me?” 

Jackson’s smirk fell off his face and his head dropped to hang between his arms as Stiles pressed into him. “ _Fuck_ , Stiles. On your back, Der.” 

Derek settled in and Jackson dropped to his elbows, finding the bottle of lube and pressing a slicked finger against Derek’s hole. Derek could see Stiles from this vantage, and was, as always, mesmerized by his alpha. They were always wolves, and yet Stiles never lost his composure, even in the throes of sex. Jackson and Derek regularly flashed eyes and popped claws, occasionally even biting with too-sharp teeth, but Stiles was always impossibly, perfectly human the entire time.

Derek stopped being able to see Stiles when Jackson found his prostate, head falling back lax against the bed. Jackson sucked half-heartedly at Derek’s dick to, more for his benefit than Derek’s. Jackson, for all his blustering and posturing, lived for this; letting Stiles and Derek, the men he trusted and loved, take their pleasure from a body that had caused others so much pain. 

Stiles reached around to stroke at Jackson’s dick once Jackson was three fingers deep in Derek, and Jackson’s head fell to rest on Derek’s thigh, eyes shut tight, bottom lip caught between jutting fangs. Stiles dropped close, leaning in so that his thrusts were deeper, shorter, and Derek could hear him whisper into Jackson’s ear, “You did good, you can come now, Jax. I’ve got you.”  
And because Jackson was a good boy he did come, just as his alpha told him to. 

Derek rolled up, unable to resist kissing Stiles when his face was so close, and the alpha grinned into the kiss for just a moment before he peeled himself up off of Jackson’s back, sliding his glistening cock out of the beta’s ass. With great care, he pulled Jackson up and then laid him back against the pillows, Jackson’s eyes heavily-lidded but attentively watching as Stiles pounced towards Derek. 

“Fuck me like this, please.” Derek said, arms pillowed behind his head as Stiles settled between his legs, pressing the blunt head of his cock against Derek’s pliant hole. Derek let his eyes slip closed as Stiles pressed in. 

Stiles fucked them differently, and it was something they both loved about him. Jackson liked to be fucked hard, liked to be used and then cared for after with soft words and cuddles and affection. He liked to be worshipped. Derek liked to be needed. He wanted touch and kisses and bites and the romance of sex. Stiles somehow managed to give both of them what they needed. 

Neither of them lasted long; Stiles already on edge and Derek worked up from Jackson’s fingers and mouth and watching Stiles fuck the other beta. When Stiles came, he tipped Derek’s head back and sank his fangs in against the mating bite, spurring on Derek’s orgasm, the werewolf coming without touching himself, clawed hands gripping at Stiles’ back. 

“And this is why we bought the black sheets.” Jackson mused from over their shoulder, curled up on his side. “While, they do show come, they don’t show blood.”

Stiles chuckled against Derek’s neck, where he was lapping at the bite he’d caused. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” He pressed up and pulled out of Derek, leaning down to lap at the puddle of come on his stomach, Derek running hands through the alpha’s too-long hair. 

“You never are.” Jackson rolled his eyes. “Come cuddle me, both of you.” 

“Yes, your highness.” Derek rolled his eyes, moving up to his side of the bed, watching as Jackson not-subtly dragged Stiles down for a heated kiss, seeking the remnant taste of Derek in Stiles’ mouth.

Derek waited for Stiles to settle in, and then pressed a kiss to Stiles’ throat. “I love you.” He said, leaning over to kiss Jackson’s temple. “You too.” 

“I love you both too.” Jackson murmured, tucked against Stiles’ chest. 

“Me too.” Stiles said, voice heavy. Derek looked up at him with a questioning eyebrow. “I’m okay I just…” Stiles squeezed both of them affectionately. “I sometimes still can’t believe this is real.” 

“It’s real.” Jackson said, lifting his head, “It’s real and this time if you run I’ll skin you alive.” 

“And I’ll help.” Derek said, pressing a kiss to the underside of Stiles’ jaw. “You’re home now, Stiles. For good.”

Stiles settled then, giving both of them a small, fond smile. He flicked a hand up at the door, and Derek smelled a burst of magic as the soundproofing and lights switched off. “Thank you.” He whispered.

\--

Stiles was sure both of them were asleep, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to follow them, despite the travel in the morning to come. He just held them and stared, the wolf in him pleased that both of his mates were content and cared for, safe in his arms. His pack was whole and growing, his territory protected.

If Stiles wasn’t careful, before he knew it, he wouldn’t be any kind of monster anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride this has been! I loved this universe and this series of fics so much. Thanks for joining me. If you're interested, I'm happy to take specific prompts for this verse over at my [Tumblr](https://tiniestawoo.tumblr.com) but otherwise, this verse is effectively finished!
> 
> Thanks for all of your support!

**Author's Note:**

> you're welcome to come see me at 
> 
> those-who-fall.tumblr.com


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